i tried something different i don't know if i like it

My experience with the signs in my life
  • Aries female: so stubborn is incredible. A hot head. She knows what she wants and she'll get it. Yells a lot. Cares a lot about her family. Very concerned about her diet. She looks like a cinnamon roll but is a beast inside.
  • Aries male : very intelligent, probably the most intelligent. Can either have a very scientific mind or a very literary mind. Loves to read. LOVES to make puns. Horrible ones. Has the biggest laugh.
  • Taurus female: MY BIGGEST LOVE. Literally the cutest thing. She is so smart and caring and it's true: she loves to eat. Cares so much about everyone, not only her close friends. She almost never get angry but when she does. Ouch.
  • Taurus male: a cutie. Always ready to cheer you up. DOES NOT. BELIEVE. IN. ASTROLOGY. Likes scientific shit. Loves old movies. Always laughs at your jokes. The best friend you can find. Loves Shrek.
  • Gemini female: so strong and independent. Her hair is always on point, so is her outfit. Either very tall or very short. They talk a lot and they love listening to you. Geminis are actually very lovable people. Best companion for a boring class or for lunch break.
  • Gemini male: very bold and confident about himself. Does his own thing. It's not that he is a dick, it's just that he has his own problems to take care of. Except Trump, Trumps is really a dick. Im sorry Geminis that he is in your sign. The cool guy of the class who has a different girl every week. A lil fuckboy but fun to have a chat with. Loves videogames and perfect pal to get drunk with.
  • Cancer female: not a crybaby. Actually HATES to cry in public. More often than you think, very extroverted. Very passionate about what she loves. High ambitions, starts many things and then get bored. So many puns oh god.
  • Cancer male: oh boy. "Nightmare dressed as a daydream". Makes you feel so special. Boyfriend material. Usually dark hair and dark eyes. Not very tall. Adorable. Special laugh. Will do great things in life. Very creative but kinda introvert(?) WILL RATHER DIE THAN CRY IN PUBLIC.
  • Leo female: very close about her private things but she will open up if you demonstrate her she can trust you. Loves everyone. Not that confident about herself. Very confident about the world, tho. Wants to move someplace else and experience. People respect her.
  • Leo male: Stonehead™. Literally smokes all the time to forget about the pain he feels. Hides emotions and then explodes, usually with rage. Either very close to you that he calls you every day, or he'll completely ignore you. Smart even tho it doesn't look like. The lonely wolf.
  • Virgo female: so stubborn and independent. She knows what she wants and she'll get it. Can get very clingy to the people she loves but sometimes neglect other people she loves even tho she doesn't notice. Get mad easily for the little things. The queen. Just listen to her, she knows the shit.
  • Virgo male: cute but doesn't have his own personality. Sometimes gets involved in ugly companies and does things he doesn't want to. Very sensitive but tries to hide it. Actually cares about you even tho he wants to appear a tough boy. Pretends he doesn't care about school, ends up with all A. Probably very good at soccer.
  • Libra female: becomes part of your family if she isn't already. Amazing lipsticks. Always has great stories to tell. Lives in the clouds. Forgets about things easily but won't forget the important things. Has so many passions but get easily distracted when she is studying for an exam. Perfect person to binge watch Sherlock with.
  • Libra male: my everything. Pretends he's a gryffindor but deep down is a slytherin. Stunning. Gets high grade without doing shit. The teacher favorite. The one you can do stupid shit with. Will do anything for you. Listens to you 24/7. Loves tv shows. Very smart. Will probably end up doing something very important. Perfect dad.
  • Scorpio female: actually very sweet and caring, as much as cancer. Never shows off her emotions but you'll know when she cares about you. She's like a mama bear. She'll call you if she feels you are not happy. She'll call you constantly. Extroverted and kind. Best presents ever. Looks naive but very cautious.
  • Scorpio male: ok so my ex fwb was a scorpio and i gotta say they get emotionally attached. Pretend they don't care AT ALL and then calls u at 2 in the morning telling u they love you. Just be careful cause they don't know what they want. Obsessed with electronic things and sex.
  • Sagittarius female: literally on fire. SHE. TALKS. SO. MUCH. I have so many different feelings about her. Either i love completely or I can't stand her. She pretends she knows everything. She's so slow at doing everything, except talking. Laughs a lot. Very sensitive deep down. So loud.
  • Sagittarius male: Pretty introverted. The fire is hidden. He's a freaking badass. If he cares about you, he will show you. Most likely to call you at midnight for your birthday. Very sweet. Goes big or goes home, especially in love. Both a cinnamon and a sinnamon roll. Like if he ain't in the same political party as you, just don't mention politics. That's when the fire shows.
  • Capricorn female: so. she actually cares about you. but she has so much shit going on so she might forget to come at a place you invited her, she won't even apologize but when something happens to you, be sure she'll call. She's absolutely cute and she has been hurt so many times so it's hard for her to trust people completely.
  • Capricorn male: THE FUCKING FANBOY. He loves to travel and to try new things. He is so shy but with his friends he's crazy. Laughs at his own jokes. Extremely sensitive and when he loves, he loves hard. So intelligent and interesting. Absolutely adorable.
  • Aquarius female: the sweetest. she gets clingy to everyone but because she wants to have friends and do things and has a lot of problems but holds everything in and puts her friends first and she's hurt. The most precious human. She needs, she deserves to be loved the most. Learns very quickly and she's very honest.
  • Aquarius male: the devil™. Actually he is funny, like so many jokes, but sometimes it's just too much. He hates when people offend him. Gets on the defensive. Kinda selfish and cares a lot about like 3 people (?). Like he will kill for them. So much drama, boy. Probably failed history and algebra 2 twice.
  • Pisces female: such a badass and a cutiepie at the same time i don't even know how this is possible. she has such a strong personality and loves her friends. Determined and will fight with her teeth for what she loves. You need to have a pisces in your life. She always says she will kill a person but then she just like run away.
  • Pisces male: like just like the pisces female. Cares so much about his family and shows his emotions easily, whether is anger or sadness or happiness. Determined but also insecure about himself, but will do great things.

anonymous asked:

Hello! How would you write a dialogue in which a character is freaking out about something? I generally have them word vomit but I don't really like that style. If its too much could you show me an example as well?

Hi!

You could definitely word vomit – especially if your character is hysterical – but that’s not the only way to do it by any means. I know a few other ways.

1. Calmly.
This is strange, considering your character is freaking out, but the freak-out is internal – they’re shutting themselves off due to shock. In this case, they would be quiet, sane, and even if what they’re saying is illogical, it would probably sound reasonable.

“I was right there when she shot him. He dropped like a sack of flour. I figured he was gone as soon as the bullet hit his chest. So now I’ve decided I’m gonna go after her. Right now. And I’m gonna kill her.”
“What? You can’t do that!”
“Sure I can. She killed him, so I kill her. It’s called justice.”
“But- With just your bare hands?”
“The way I feel right now, my bare hands are more than enough.”

Notice how the character who just watched their friend die in front of them isn’t yelling, isn’t stuttering, isn’t getting angry or crying – they’re perfectly calm, almost to the point of complete emotional shutdown.

2. Angrily.
Some people get angry when they lose control and freak out – it scares them, and the fear manifests itself as anger. This type particularly happens when they’re upset about something and other characters aren’t taking it seriously or are shrugging off their concerns.

“No! It’s happening tonight! We don’t have time to think, or weigh things, we need to fucking leave! Now!”
“We can’t. You know that, and you’d remember that, if you were thinking straight-”
“I am thinking straight! It’s you who’s fucked in the head. I don’t give a damn what you think we can and can’t do, we need to clear out of here, right this second.”

As you can see, this character is freaking out – their concerns may or may not have a firm foundation, but obviously they are concerned, and that concern is manifesting itself as fury.

3. By stuttering.
For some people, it’s hard to talk when they panic, because their minds race forward ahead of their mouths and they get tongue-tied. I typically see/use this with more anxious characters, or with characters who aren’t typically good at speaking anyways (in other words, who are uncomfortable talking).

There are a couple of different ways to stutter:
a. Repeat the beginning of each word.

“I tr-tried to s-save him, but he wuh-wouldn’t l-let me … he knew it was g-going to happen. It’s my f-fault!”

(However, keep in mind that this kind of stuttering is more as if your character is crying and trying to talk through sobs and hiccups. Please use it sparingly – it can get old fast.)

b. Repeat words.

“No. No, I don’t know what’s going on, Ricky. Ricky, why would I have any idea? Don’t fucking look at me like that, Ricky. Don’t look at me like I’m lying.”

c. Insert filler sounds: “ah”, “uh”, “um”, and/or curse words.

“I, uh, I- fuck. I, ummm, I think maybe, ah, maybe we should leave?”

For more on stuttering – it can be hard to peg correctly – check out this post.

I hope this helps! If you need anything else, please feel free to ask. - @authors-haven

#awkward #pining #ministry

Prompts: @tera2
Author: @queenofthyme

Harry read the article again. He didn’t know why he put himself through it. Rita Skeeter’s outlandish claims never failed to make him angry. And he’d already forced The Daily Prophet to run a redaction days ago. 

No, he did know, actually. It was the accompanying image. The one with Draco Malfoy staring right into the camera, unblinking, a challenge in his eyes. It was familiar but at the same time nothing Harry had ever seen before (except during his many rereads of this particular paper). Malfoy had aged. Matured obviously since he was now a Ministry official. There was just something about his face. The same but different. Harry was drawn to it.

“Auror Potter." 

Harry looked up to find that same face at his doorway, focusing a steely gaze on Harry. He was so shocked he forgot he was holding a cup of tea. It dropped to his desk with an embarrassing clatter, spilling its contents, all over Malfoy’s inked face.  

The Malfoy at Harry’s office door – the real one – didn’t move. His eyes flickered down to Harry’s desk, watching the spill unfold passively.

Harry jumped to his feet and quickly bundled up the wet paper, throwing it face down into a waste basket at his feet. He wasn’t sure if he’d been fast enough.

He looked back up to Malfoy, searching for any sign he might have seen. Nothing. But that hardly meant much. Harry suspected Malfoy’s emotions didn’t play so obviously on his face anymore. He nodded in what he hoped was a professional courteous manner. "Dralfoy.”

Harry froze, the awful blunder hitting his ears just as it came out of his mouth. He could feel himself blushing, his palms getting clammy, his knees weak. Was simply Malfoy’s presence enough to make him come undone these days?

And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, Harry, not quite sure how much longer he’d be able to stand for, slumped back into his seat - or at least attempted to – but misjudged the position and ended up plummeting to the floor instead.

The only saving grace – if there was any positive to the situation at all – was that at least on the floor, behind his desk, he was hidden from sight. He wondered if he crawled under his desk and stayed there, if Malfoy would get the idea and leave. Harry was seriously considering the option when Malfoy came into view again, stepping around the desk to loom over Harry.

He offered a hand. Harry gladly took it, forgetting for a moment the current predicament of said hands. And sure enough, after Malfoy helped Harry to his feet, he quickly let go and wiped his hand on his trousers.

Harry wanted to close his eyes and crawl up into a ball in the corner of the room. He never wanted to look Malfoy in the eye again. In less than a minute, he had made himself look like a complete fool. And all it took was for Malfoy to walk in the bloody room.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “I just came by to say hello. I thought it was polite given we work in the same building now. Which, of course, you already know.” His eyes darted to the waste basket. Shit.

“I had The Daily Prophet write a redaction,” Harry blurted out, as if that would help. Although at least he managed to get the words right this time.

“That was you? I should have guessed. You never miss an opportunity to save my skin.” Malfoy’s lips quirked upward for the smallest moment before his composure returned. “Well, it was nice seeing how the other side lives. I suppose I must get back to it.”

“Right,” Harry managed to nod. “I’ll get the door for you.”

They both stared at the open door.

Having already committed to the pointless task, Harry hurried forward and tripped over his own feet, falling right into Malfoy’s waiting – his reflexes were still as fast as they were in Quidditch – arms. Could Harry be more embarrassing?

Malfoy righted Harry but kept a firm grip on him – perhaps he thought Harry might slump to the floor otherwise, which was probably an accurate assumption at this stage.

There was amusement in Malfoy’s face now, a lightness in his eyes. “Are you always this clumsy, Potter, or am I special?”

“You’re special,” Harry answered quickly as he didn’t want Malfoy to think this was how all his mornings went. Although, after he realised what he’d said, he quickly tried to take it back: “No, I mean, wait, I mean, that’s not what I  -“

Malfoy took a step back, dropping his arms. “No need to be so flustered, Potter,” he interrupted. “I keep all the newspapers with your face on them too.”

Harry’s brain short-circuited. He must have stood there blinking at Malfoy for a solid five seconds before he was able to ask: “All of them?”

“Thirty-four and counting.” Malfoy winked. “You know, Potter, if you were to take me out to dinner, I’m sure the outing might be scandalous enough to make the front page. We could add to both our collections.”

“If I – you – dinner?” Harry repeated, a little discombobulated.

“Why, Potter,” Malfoy said, a cheeky smile appearing on his face, “I thought you’d never ask. I’d love to.”

Harry blinked – it was the only action he was capable of.

Malfoy laughed lightly when Harry didn’t reply. He made to exit, but paused briefly to call out over his shoulder: “I finish at six.”

Only when Malfoy was out of view did Harry let his knees give in.

more like this l @queenofthyme

anonymous asked:

Hux has been in a loveless marriage with someone high up in the First Order since he was in his early 20s, it was purely political and arranged by his father. Hux meets his new co commander Kylo and eventually starts an affair with him

[Admiral NICOL, 03:07]: My Destroyer will be crossing paths with yours in two standard days. I’ll be coming on board to see you.

[General HUX, 03:08]: As you wish.

[Admiral NICOL, 03:08]: You will be ready for me.

[General HUX, 03:09]: Of course.

[Admiral NICOL, 03:11]: I expect your wedding band to have not left your finger since my last visit.

[General HUX, 03:12]: It has not.

[Admiral NICOL, 03:13]: Good. Have there been any major changes since my last visit?

“Who are you messaging?”

Hux is sitting back against the headboard of his grand bed, and looks up from his datapad and back down to where Kylo lies beside him, eyes blinking open slowly from his sleep.

“Nicol,” Hux answers with a sneer, reaching to brush Kylo’s hair from his eyes. “He’s coming to visit in a few days.”

Kylo groans. Underneath the covers, he slides his arm around Hux’s waist, leaning in closer to kiss Hux’s hip, pressing his open mouth against his pale skin and sucking gently.

“He can’t find out about us,” Hux says, eyes locked on the way Kylo’s lips look divine against his skin. “We’ll have to stay away from each other.”

“Can’t do that,” Kylo murmurs. “I have to be with you. You’re not his to command.”

It’s as though the golden ring around Hux’s finger tightens at Kylo’s taunting words. Hux looks down at it as Kylo shifts next to him, sitting up beside him.

“He’s my husband, Ren. I have to–”

Hux’s sentence melts away into Kylo’s mouth, consumed by his kiss, every one of his thoughts shifting away from his husband and to Kylo Ren; the one Hux wishes he was betrothed to.

“He’s not your husband, Hux,” Kylo says, shaking his head. “You see him once a year where he comes on board, has sex with you, threatens to contact your father about your lack of progress since his last visit, then leaves. A husband is supposed to kiss you good morning, bring you flowers, hug you when you’re down, hug you when you’re happy, fight anyone who brings harm to you, stay with you regardless of differences. So, forgive me for refusing to leave your side once that idiot is on board.”

Hux blinks, amazed and enamoured; feelings that have never once graced his heart in the years he’s been married to Admiral Nicol.

“Careful, Ren,” Hux says, reaching up to cup Kylo’s cheek. “You sound as though you’re plotting treason against my husband. ”

Kylo smiles, eyes locked with Hux’s, a sparkle in his dark eyes that Hux has never seen before. But he’s distracted suddenly by Kylo’s hand smoothing along his own, gliding up his fingers with the gentlest touch that Hux has ever felt. There’s a soft grip around his ring, pulling it away from him until it’s completely off and cast aside, tossed into the darkness that surrounds Hux’s bed.

Kylo says nothing, though neither does Hux. Instead, Hux picks up his data pad, finding his messaging application still open, Nicol’s question still unanswered. With a smirk on his lips, Hux begins typing.

[General HUX, 03:31]: Yes, sir. I’m afraid quite a lot has changed in your absence. But I’m sure we will discuss things upon your arrival to my ship. Let us hope that your journey is a safe one. Best wishes, dear husband, and long live the First Order.

(long post, sorry)

In spite of everything I love Harley Quinn but, damn, writers treat her so badly. I swear, the temptation to make her actually stupid must be terrible because it’s so often implied, or explicitly stated, that she slept her way through school. First of all, it does not work like that.  Second, she’s not a therapist or a psychologist, she’s a psychiatrist, she’s a fricking MD and a damn young one too. Managing pre-med and collegiate gymnastics that she relied on to keep her scholarship? Harley is fucked up, but she’s not the dumb blonde she plays. (also stop making her stacked, she’s a gymnast. she is 4’11” of pure muscle and is not top heavy)

If you want a good Harley backstory it’s simple. She’s ADHD but medicated and slightly robotic because of it. I want to take special care not to demonize meds but, rather, people’s disapproval of neurodivergence and a lack of focus on what is best for a patient rather than what is most convenient for others. So, maybe, around ten years old Harley is a hyperactive space cadet who’s brilliant at tests but sloppy at coursework, who would be a gymnastics prodigy if she could actually focus on technique and put in practice time instead of fooling around. Then the meds come and it’s actually really cool because she can do the things she needs to do instead of just wanting to do them, doing something else entirely, and getting in trouble. People are proud of her, she’s proud of herself. But now there are expectations. Family and teachers and coaches overschedule her, find worth only in her success and don’t care about her mental health at all as long as she’s performing and castigate her when she does fail. Fuck if you don’t internalize that. But she doesn’t look unhealthy and she’s doing amazing. She actually has to choose between the Olympic trials and continuing her grad studies. She probably has some issues with self-harm but it either doesn’t look like self-harm or is well covered up. 

When Arkham accepts her, fresh from her residency, it’s not a mistake. The woman is amazing. All they can see is a mountain of achievements rather than the seething ball of nerves, self-loathing, and imposter syndrome boiling just under the surface. That’s when Joker comes in. He’s got the Hannibal Lecter shtick down. Where everyone else sees an intelligent driven young woman he sees a frightened overwhelmed girl who is working her hardest to convince the world she’s anyone other than herself. Sending her into a nervous breakdown would be too easy so he doesn’t even bother. Instead he’s open with her, almost friendly. The other doctors are amazed, Harley is amazed, she’s not done anything particularly revolutionary but, for the first time in forever, it looks like the clown prince of crime is showing progress. He unravels her and it’s a challenge, she flinches back and gets very serious when he comes too close to the real Harley under the professional. Still, soon she’s questioning everything. She doesn’t even really like her co-workers. She hasn’t had a real friend in years. She’s forgotten how to have fun. Did she ever want this to be her life or did she just do it for other people? It starts so slowly that it looks, at first, like she’s getting better at self-care. Maybe something totally silly one weekend, a trampoline park where she can enjoy the way her toned body moves without stressing out over landings, a face painting booth at a street fair, some garishly colored downright tacky decoration that clashes with her sensible apartment. Suddenly she realizes how much she hates knowing the difference between cream and ecru. The beigeness of her life is repulsive. She hates the person she’s pretending to be even more that she hates herself which is really saying something.

After her weekend of freedom she would have called in sick if it wasn’t so suddenly important to see him. The relief she feels at talking to one of Gotham’s most infamous supercriminals is disturbing but it is relief and she’s been swallowing a slow-motion panic attack for hours. She admits, though she shouldn’t, that she took his advice about doing something fun and he teases her, what would straight-laced Doctor Quinzel do for fun? Did she realphabetize her sock drawer or buy a new clipboard? It’s not important to impress him, it’s really not. He’s dangerous, cruel, and he looks so proud when she admits that she bought a lamp shaped like a lawn flamingo. The only mistake, he says, is that she should have stolen it. She hopes the wicked thrill it gives her doesn’t show on her face. It does. She almost even laughs. He likes it when he can make her laugh and she likes it when he likes things.

It’s wrong and unprofessional, the relationship she develops, and she knows it but her whole life she’s been so high strung. Nothing she’s done has been for her, she’s not sure she knows how to really do selfish things anymore, but he knows the selfish things she needs to do. It feels good when she follows his advice even when it’s small things like the rainbow striped socks she wears concealed under her very bland slacks and sensible shoes. She’s so happy, almost giddy, and he loves her happiness, he loves her, he loves the real her that she’s had to beat down and hide for so long, the her that even she isn’t able to love. She is able to love him, though, and since he loves her she’s able to love herself for him, to protect and nurture something so important to him.

When the choice comes between her old self, the tedious endless labor of making the world proud, and Him, the spectacular man that brought color into her life, it’s not even a question. She kills Doctor Harleen Quinzel, she throws away the version of her that let herself burn just for medals and hollow accolades. She embraces Harley Quinn and it’s so much a part of her nature she can’t even see that she’s still living her life for someone else’s approval, except this time that person is a murderous clown. She hasn’t let her hair down, she’s just put it in pigtails instead of a bun.

***Nearly 3 weeks into the hiatus and I am missing Magnus and Alec desperately. Matthew Daddario voice: *When is it gonna end?” Siiigh. But well, what better way to spent the hiatus then reading some great Malec fanfics, right? Right. Because I have read a lot of amazing fics incl. discovering some great new authors. And now that autumn is coming…. the perfect time to read more.

Also, I am overwhelmed how many notes the last rec post got and how much you all enjoy(ed) it. So I hope this 5th edition will get a lot of love, too. Again, let me know if you liked this and if I should continue doing this. But now, have fun reading, pumpkins.***


FALL WITHOUT WINGS by @notcrypticbutcoy [ M | 144k | WIP ]

Alec has been told the same stories all his life. He’s been taught the same lines, over and over again. Downworlders are reckless, impulsive, demonic. They’re not to be trusted.

And Magnus Bane is the epitome of everything evil about Downworlders.

At least, that’s what people keep telling him. Alec’s not quite so sure anymore.

Or: In which the Nephilim have wings, are taught to loathe Downworlders, and Alec is presented with a conundrum when Magnus Bane saves his life.


HOLDING THE STICK by @baneismyexistence​  [ M | AU | 80.3k | complete ]

Alec Lightwood has dreamed of hoisting Lord Stanley since he was eight. It’s in his blood. He’s spent the last five years trying to make that dream a reality, only managing to fall short each time.

Until a scandal leads to a multi-team trade that sends Magnus Bane his way. One of the top performing wingers in the league. An up and coming star.

And the most handsome man Alec has ever met.

He’s doomed.


STRANGE LOVE by arandomfan91 [ M | AU | 46.6k | complete ]

Alec is in love with Magnus. Magnus needs Alec to be his fake boyfriend. What could possibly go wrong?


STRANGE LOVE - EXTRAS by arandomfan91 [ T | AU | 13.8k | complete ]

Missing scenes and chapter re-writes from Strange Love, all told from Magnus’ POV.

These extras are tied in with the fic Strange Love. You should read that story first before reading this!


FOOLS RUSH IN by @m-aleciseverything [ M | AU | 85.2k | complete ]

Alec, Jace, and Simon go to Vegas for Jace’s bachelor party and things get a little bit ridiculous.

Alec wakes up the next morning and…wait a minute, who’s that in his bed?


AND THE OSCAR GOES TO… by @lecrit  [ E | AU | 21.5k | complete | Stars Aligned #1 ]

Working for Magnus isn’t easy. Magnus is out of control and Alec has to yell more often than not to get him to listen to him. He hates everything formal because it means he has to watch his mouth. Most importantly, Magnus is an incorrigible flirt.

Which would be alright if Alec wasn’t utterly, irremediably, unfathomably in love with him.


IT’S ALWAYS YOUR MOVE by @lecrit  [ E | AU | 15.5k | complete | Stars Aligned #2 ]

Maryse Lightwood is fierce, determinate and she is standing right in front of Magnus, on the threshold of his house, the scowl on her face announcing nothing good.

Magnus hasn’t seen her since the Oscars ceremony three days ago. To be fair, he hasn’t really seen anyone, too busy that he had been catching up on lost time with Alec.

Magnus thought he could be tranquil forever after winning an Oscar and finally confessing his feelings to Alec. Magnus was wrong.


WALK OF FAME by @lecrit  [ M | AU | 13.5k | complete | Stars Aligned #3 ]

Alec is fairly certain he is the luckiest man in America. On earth. Possibly in the entire universe.

He slowly started to convince himself of the now indisputable fact when Magnus and him started dating a year ago after the ceremony that crowned Magnus as King of the World (or Best Actor, but Alec isn’t always objective when it comes to his boyfriend).
A lot happened in a year, and Alec knows eventually the wheel is bound to spin and his luck might dim and vanish but as of now, he still feels like the luckiest man on earth, and he is going to make the most of it for as long as it lasts.


CATCHING THE LOVE BUG by @daddariossmile [ M | AU | 3.5k | complete ]

In which the Lightwood siblings always end up in the hospital, Alec spends a lot of time waiting around, and the charming Dr. Bane is more than a little attractive. 


SYMPATHY FOR THE PRINCE by @ketzwrites [ M | AU | 31.9k | complete ]

Prince of Hell Magnus Bane, was tired of his life in Hell. Every day was the same; condemned souls being punished for their wrong doings, demons feasting on the worst humanity had to offer, two or three deals with a few greedy humans. It was dull, uneventful. Boring.

So Magnus packed his bags and moved to New York City. As the owner of the lavishing club Pandemonium at the heart of Manhattan, Magnus enjoyed a life without worries for five years, until the fateful night where a former client was murdered on the streets.

It was then that he met no-nonsense Homicide Detective Alec Lightwood, owner of incorruptible morals and the tightest ass Magnus has ever seen. Earth was fun, after all.


TODAY YOUR BARISTA IS… by @baneandgone [ G | AU | 2.4k | complete ]

alec works in a coffeeshop. one day jace hijacks the chalkboard out front

(aka one of those ‘today your barista is’ sign aus)


THIGH HOLSTER by @everydayisonfire [ E | PWP | 2.2k | complete ]

Magnus doesn’t get distracted by a certain Shadowhunter, wearing a tight thigh holster.
Nope. Absolutely not.


ON THE SUBWAY by The_Forgotten_Nobody [ G | AU | 1.4k | complete | On The Subway #1 ]

Confused, Magnus followed Rafael’s line of site to the opposite side of the train where a young man sat, pulling silly faces. However, the moment he realised Magnus was staring his face flushed and he stopped, averting his eyes as if he hadn’t just answered all of Magnus’ prayers. In more ways than one as well because not only had he calmed Raf down but he was gorgeous.


MR LIGHTWOOD, MR BANE by TruePlainHearts [ E | PWP | 2.2k | complete ]

“Lovely to see you, Mr Lightwood.”

“And you, Mr Bane. Thank you for taking the time.”

*****

The kinky, shameless smut that occurs right after the rest of the clan leaders leave. Magnus and Alec make excellent and creative use of Alec’s new office and its expansive mahogany desk… and its sturdy door.


MR. LIGHTWOOD by @nanf1c​ [ M | 1.2k | complete ]

A ‘no kissing, looking at suggestively or touching’ rule was applied when it came to Magnus and Alec at the downworlder meeting. Magnus respected that, respected his man, and tried his best as soon as he walked through the doors of the institute. But now, back in his loft, with the night fallen and Alec returning through the front door from a demon attack, looking battered and exhausted, Magnus couldn’t help but keep the game going.


YOU HAVE ME by @hufflebee​ [ G | 664 | complete ]

They stay on the balcony for a while, listening to the sounds of New York at night. Alec noticed the glasses and the discarded pillows when he walked in, but he doesn’t want to break the comfortable silence they’ve fallen into. He looks over at Magnus, and by the angel, he looks beautiful, breathtaking. but the longer Alec watches him, the more he can see the makeup and hair and the clothes for what they really are.

An armour.


PARADISE IN BETWEEN by Teumessian [ E | 7.8k | complete | The Boundless Saga #4 ]

In the months following the loss of the Mortal Cup, anxieties run deep. It’s no time for a vacation, and yet… Magnus has had a lot of years to practice the art of persuasion.


WITH MY BODY AND SOUL, I WANT YOU MORE THAN YOU’LL EVER KNOW by liamandzayn [ E | PWP | 4.3k | complete ]

Alec captures the defined line of Magnus’ jaw between eager yet clumsy fingers, tilting his face upwards as they gasp into each other’s mouths, exchanging fevered gusts of breath. Magnus seizes the swollen flesh of Alec’s bottom lip with gentle teeth, nipping gingerly, suckling with avid hunger and Alec’s groan resonates loud and clear throughout the room. By the angel, he wants this man desperately; his need has become a physical ache, pulsating through his nerve endings and coiling strictly around his burning muscles.


BEGIN AGAIN by ReneeWritesx [ not rated | AU | 21k | complete | A Light To Call Home #1 ]

Unpacking sucked. And Magnus had only brought like half of his things. Okay, maybe two-thirds. But whatever, it didn’t matter. What did matter was that Magnus was sweating from carrying boxes, the cottage had no air conditioning, and he was super close to packing everything back up and driving back to New York in about three seconds.

-

Or the one where heartbreak is a pain in the ass, Magnus is forced to spend the summer in a small cottage in the hopes of finding his passion for design again, and manages to piss off the cute neighbor after only being there for two days.

“The only real pain in life is between hanging on and letting go.”


IN THE INSTITUTE by sarahrae5135 [ E | 6.1k | complete ]

Magnus stays at the Institute for the first time.


THE MORNING AFTER by @asexualalexanderlightwood​ [ not rated | 733 | complete ]

A small little post finale fic for anyone in need of more Malec loveliness


BETTER FOR YOU by @zrdu [ not rated | 9.2k | complete ]

Magnus’ and Alec’s relationship comes to a sudden halt when Maryse interferes. They both try to cope without each other.


WITH YOU WRAPPED AROUND ME, THE WORLD FEELS PERFECT by @matsdaddario  [ E | 3.6k | complete | Lovely Firsts #3 ]

Magnus is still asleep; Alec can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against his own back, and Alec takes the few minutes just to enjoy being wrapped up in Magnus’s arms. He looks down at their hands threaded together, resting against his stomach. He loves the contrast between them; tan and pale, long and lean, deep red nail polish and short, bitten nails. There’s something comforting there too. How different they can be, but how well they fit together. Alec has a moment of feeling like they were made to fit together. It might be stupid, it brings a blush to his cheeks, but a warm feeling settles in his stomach at the thought. He likes that.


ONE DAY by @magnusragnor​ [ T | 1.3k | complete ]

“Do you -” Alec started, hissing his teeth in pain and looking up at Magnus. “Do you have any more of that free of charge warlock TLC?”

“What are you -?” Magnus asked, before the memory hit him full force and he tried not to laugh, because Alec was hurt, god damn it. But Alec was smiling up at him and his eyes were shining bright full of hope and love, so Magnus leaned down and kissed him.


MORNINGS LIKE THIS by @softmagnusbane​ [ G | 1.1k | complete ]

Alec feels all his love for the man in his arms bubble up to the surface looking at him like this. Sleep rumpled and peaceful, his hair is a soft mess that Alec almost can’t wait to run his fingers through when Magnus wakes up, his lips so kissable and slightly open. There is nothing better in this world than being able to wake up to this he thinks idly.


PLAYING WITH FIRE by Obsessivecompulsivereadr [ M | 3k | complete ]

Alec’s breath catches nearly every time he looks at Magnus, and it happens even during times they haven’t been on an official date. But tonight is different. Magnus isn’t his sedate and dignified self right now. He’s back to being flirty and relaxed, and he looks so good that Alec can’t stop thinking about touching him.


SO BRIGHT by @lemonoclefox [ G | 17.5k | complete ]

Alec has come out, but that doesn’t stop his parents from their continuous attempts to set him up with a nice shadowhunter girl. So, what better way to finally get them off his back, than to say he has a boyfriend? Problem solved. Except they now apparently want to meet this guy, who doesn’t exist. Thankfully, Magnus Bane – who encouraged Alec to come out in the first place, and whose silent crush on Alec is just as bad as Alec’s crush on him – is more than happy to help. Even if the night doesn’t end up going entirely as planned.


SLOW ME DOWN FOR A MINUTE by @abloodneed​ [ E | 7k | complete ]

They stared at each other for a moment, each beat of Magnus’s heart seeming to thicken the air again, pulling them back to the charged space they had fallen into on all of their dates. They’d fallen into this feeling here in the loft, out in the world, so many places where everything suddenly just felt intense and present. They were in this charged space where their bodies were saying one thing, and one thing only.

I want you so badly.


BLUE CHRISTMAS by Hobbit69 [ E | AU | 1.5k | complete | Blue Steels Series #6 ]

Just a quick fic to fill in a Christmas need I have for my Blue Steel Series. Takes place between “Blue Extravagance” and the upcoming “Blue Righteousness.”
Magnus and Alec “come” together for the first time since Alec’s injury and the boys wake up for Christmas morning.


BLUE RIGHTEOUSNESS by Hobbit69 [ E | AU | 41.1k | complete | Blue Steels Series #7 ]

After returning from medical leave, Detective Alexander Lightwood-Bane catches his roughest case up to date. When one of his properties, a club called Kebebasan is attacked by two gunmen, Magnus Lightwood-Bane calls the best cop he knows. During the course of the investigation, Alec discovers that this shooting isn’t an isolated incident, but the result of domestic terrorism; a group attacking what they consider to be amoral. Alec and his partner, Jace Herondale have to move quickly to stop this group before it causes wide-spread panic in the city and more loss of life.


LUNCHDATE WITH AN AFTERNOON DEBATE? by eenkhjin [ G | AU | 5.7k | complete]

Magnus Bane goes out to get lunch but comes back with a mission to prove someone wrong. Kind of…


TO LOVE A SHADOWHUNTER by Madalena [ E | 10k | complete | The Peacemaker Chronicles #1 ]

“Are you really going to risk your life for a Shadowhunter?”

Those were some of the last words that Magnus Bane had said to Dot before he stepped through his portal to his lair, protecting only the warlocks. Abandoning the rest of the Shadow World to Valentine and his Circle.

Dot wasn’t sure how long she had been under Valentine’s control, but now as she stood on Magnus’ balcony, hours after Magnus and Clary had portalled away to the Institute, to save both Shadowhunters and Downworlders, she knew something had changed.

Someone had changed him.


OBLIVION by @champagnemagnus [ T | 2.7k | complete ]

Alec stood up, keeping a careful distance and being sure to move slowly as he approached. “Magnus, I am so sorry. For everything you had to go through.”

Magnus’ eyes never moved from the spot on the floor he was staring at. He shook his head slightly, eyebrows furrowed deeply. “That agony rune…” He paused, taking a moment to swallow. His face was drawn in so much pain that Alec had to look away for a moment. He immediately punished himself by digging his fingernails into his palm. It was selfish to worry about his pain. He had certainly inflicted more than enough on Magnus that he had to atone for. “Made me remember things that I spent…centuries trying to forget.”


ONE SHOW ONLY by @gingersnapwolves [ E | AU | 29.4k | complete ]

It’s hard to stay in the closet when the guy you had a one-night stand with two nights ago turns out to be your new partner … but Alec will be damned if he isn’t going to give it a try.


THE RED BUTTON by @ketzwrites [ M | AU | 38k | complete ]

After one black out too many, Ragnor and Catarina had enough of Magnus trying to drink himself to an early grave. It was time for an intervention and they had the perfect place in mind: The Institute, the best rehabilitation installation in the New York state.

Only Magnus wasn’t exactly asked for his opinion on the matter. And if there is something Magnus doesn’t like, is to be forced into something.

Maybe the Head of the Institute, Alec Lightwood, is enough of an argument to chance his mind?

The terrible life of Lena Luthor

And why I love her so much and she deserves the world.

First, let’s keep in mind that canonically Lena’s only 24 years old, according to the show’s timeline.

Now, in season 2 Lena was in 12 episodes. During those episodes, she was in danger/manipulated/hurt (physically and emotionally) 37 times.  Specifically, she almost died 8 times and in 5 of those times she was the target. She was hit once and knocked down and kidnapped twice.

Her own bother was the one behind the attempts against her life at the beginning . She was also constantly manipulated and lied to by her mother and later by her new mother figure/mentor. So it’s usually people close to her and people that she cares about  who end up hurting her.

Let’s also remember that the events of season two happened in less than a year! I wonder how she seems so unfazed by all of her trauma. You would think she would at least have some kind of PTSD by now. Then again, this show hasn’t been great at tackling this subject.

Also, from what we’ve seen of season three this trend of her almost dying and getting hurt isn’t going to stop. What does she have to do to get a break?! I think it’s fair to say that Lena seriously needs a therapist and a bodyguard. Also all the love.

Let’s break down everything she’s been through (that we know) and who she is despite all of that. With gifs! 


Before National City. 

- Her biological mother died when she was four.

- Lionel lied to her and never told her he was her biological father.

- Was given the cold shoulder by Lillian and was constantly manipulated and reminded that she wasn’t a real Luthor.

- The brother she loved turned out to be evil.

- After her brother went to jail and she took over Luthor Corp her boyfriend at the time made her choose between him and her family’s company.


Now, during the show:

2x01

1. She was supposed to be on the Venture.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

AU where Bitty and Jack both suddenly wake up, after having had a few years together, and find themselves in their beds on the morning of the day they met. Both remember everything that happened, but neither thinks the other does, so they both pretend not to remember (which only complicates things more). They end up reenacting a lot of their interactions and it kills them both to do things they know hurt the other but they don't want to change anything.

oh no buddy, I’m not gonna let this stay sad. I’m gonna draw attention to several sad things, but then I’m gonna fix it.

******************

Bitty wakes up on his first day of freshman year. Again. He quickly decides that he can’t say anything to anyone. There was no way to prove that the life he had just been living was anything but a dream.

He goes through the motions as well as he can remember. If he lingers a little on the handshake when he ‘meets’ Jack again, well, who could notice a thing like that?

Jack wakes up in the Haus. He mirrors Bitty’s mental process, realizing that if he started talking about this he could lose the future he knows is on its way. He searches Bittle’s face for recognition, but is too afraid to say anything.

Jack takes a deep breath every day and snaps at Bittle, pushing every pet name out of his mind. Bitty forces himself to forget and relearn how to take a check. On the rink together for checking practice, neither can think of any way to ask if they’re going through the same thing. They both cry more than they did the first time around.

Sometimes Bitty just gets angry at having to repeat things. He tries as hard as he can to not mess the repetitions up, but he isn’t perfect. When Ransom and Holster start asking him what his type is, he rolls his eyes and replies “Men.” As soon as he’s said it he remembers that he had only said that later to his camera, but the damage doesn’t seem to be too great. Jack doesn’t seem to react to the change, adding to his mental list of evidence that everything else had just been a dream. He gets the list of eligible Winter Screw options a few days earlier, but everything settles back to what it had been within a week. Whenever he starts thinking about the next few years, he’s enraged about everything he’s going to have to sit back and let happen. Everything that was going to make Jack sad, and that he wouldn’t be able to fix. Everything that was going to hurt him that he couldn’t avoid. 

Jack wakes up every day and writes up a game plan. It’s hard to have to turn back years of learning and be worse as a captain, especially when he remembers every mistake he made in every lost game. So he writes down those mistakes as a reminder to himself to make them. Half of the mistakes are emotional, and that’s what really gets him. He’s forced to act like those years of growing as a person never happened, like they were worthless. He hates trying to make himself glare at Bittle when they’re on the same line, he hates telling him that it was a lucky shot, he hates being so close to his boyfriend except for the fact that he isn’t his boyfriend yet.

Then it’s the playoffs. Bitty steels himself all week for the concussion he knows is coming. It crosses his mind to try to avoid it, to spare himself the pain and potential brain damage. But he remembers that it was only after the concussion that Jack started texting him, and they really got close. He knows that if he went against the play he knew Jack was going to suggest, he’d only drive them apart. Besides, it hadn’t been that bad the first time.

Jack is confident he can find another reason to text Bittle over the summer. He’s thought about this for the whole school year. Whatever consequences could come from not seeing Bitty hurt like that would be worth it. He just has to convince the coaches to not put Bitty in at the wrong time. 

“Oh my god, I thought we got over this months ago,” Bitty mutters to himself. He doesn’t remember Jack getting so annoyed about playing with him during this game, but he’s at a point where everything has run together in his mind. 

“Jack, I’ll be fine,” he half-lies. He will, eventually. There’s something close to panic in Jack’s eyes. Weird, Jack had taken so long the first time around to show any tiny sign of weakness.

“Promise me you’ll avoid number three.” This is definitely different from before. Bitty stares at Jack. “Spencer, number three, don’t go near him when he’s on their side of the rink. Promise me, Bits.”

“You didn’t even call me Bitty at this point,” he says in shock. They stare at each other for a minute, eyes wide. 

“I won’t get the concussion this time and we’ll talk about this after the game,” Bitty blurts out. Jack nods vigorously. They play, and it’s brutal, but Bitty avoids the hip check. Once the game is over, they rush to get seats together in the bus. In whispers, they talk about the future they already had. Bitty mourned the years of school he had ahead of him that he had already completed. Jack complained about having to rewalk a long path to the Stanley Cup. They talked about teammates who felt like family but would still know them as strangers. Graduation, the Fourth of July they spent in Madison, their first Christmas together. Every important milestone of their relationship.

“And in this loop or timeline or whatever, we haven’t even kissed!” Bitty whispers, letting his head thunk back against the headrest. “I was at the point where I was out of college, happy with my career, and hiding a ring from you!”

“You weren’t!” Jack says out loud before dropping back into a whisper. “I was doing the same thing.” They both start laughing. It’s the perfect time to have a second first kiss. They lean in towards each other, their lips meet, and–

–They’re back in their apartment. Bitty sits bolt upright in their bed and turns to Jack. For a fleeting second, he thinks about pretending the last several months just didn’t happen. Jack sits up too, and their eyes meet.

“Did that just–”

“Your frog year take two–” They dissolve into relieved laughter.

“I thought I was going to have to take calc again!”

“I thought I was going to have to listen to you complain about calc again,” Jack says before Bitty smacks him with a pillow. “Kidding! Kind of! Wait, weren’t we just saying that we wanted to propose to each other?” He throws himself out of bed and runs to start rummaging through various coat pockets.

“Oh no, you’re not going to propose to me before I can propose to you!” 

Everything is as it should be once more.

I Don't Wanna Live Forever [Connor Murphy x Reader]

Title: I Don’t Wanna Live Forever
Pairing: Connor Murphy x Reader
Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen
Requested: no
Summary: Your family takes an annual trip to the mountains with the Murphy family every year to unwind over the winter break–that being said, Connor Murphy isn’t the sweet kid he used to be, and you’d rather be anywhere else than sharing a room with him for two weeks. However, between your parents, a line of accidents, and a mapless trip in the woods seem determined to bring you together–if you can make it out alive.
Warnings: Connor’s potty mouth | Mentions of drugs, abuse, alcohol, panic attacks, sex trafficking, sex, blood, hospitals | First person reader | face paced/vignette style | not proof read | tenses may change
A/N: Here’s that long ass thing I’ve been working on for weeks and just finished a few minutes ago, ayy. Based entirely off the “Connor hated skiing” line. This is long af with no read more option, sorry :/ Here we go! (THANKS FOR 500+ FOLLOWERS ♡♡♡)


Connor Murphy was a lot of things.

He was stubborn–I’d never seen him admit he was wrong, but I’d definitely seen him throw scrabble pieces across the wooden floor of the cabin, leaving Zoe to scramble red-faced to collect them as he stomped up the oak steps to his room, echoing around the house.

He was annoying–I’d told him once I wasn’t crazy about Iron Maiden, which resulted in the album being on blast for the entirety of the time he drove Zoe and I around the mall in the family’s silver minivan.

He was stoic. He was impatient. He was angry.

I’d begged my parents not to go cabins for winter break. I’d begged them to pick a different mountain range if we were so dead set on skiing. But Mr. Murphy and my mother were business associates, and the last thing she wanted to do was make them feel like we were no longer on good terms–especially because of Connor.

“Larry’s been having an awfully hard time with Connor, sweetheart, you have to understand,” my mother crooned in our rental car, fixing her lip liner as she drove, my father keeping a white knuckled grip on the Jesus handle above his head. “He’s not doing very well in school and he’s been throwing tantrums at home. Poor Cynthia is at her wits end. They’re lucky to have that sweet Zoe, she’s so talented and smart. Poor Connor is jealous and acting out, just try not to rally him up, alright, dear?”

I didn’t dignify her with a response, mostly because I knew she wouldn’t like what I had to say anyway, but also because I knew she wouldn’t care to listen, either. I sighed loudly, watching the snow flurry softly outside the window. It wasn’t fair–here I was in the middle of something so remarkably beautiful, and I’d be shoved in a minivan with the Murphy kids and stuck in the valley town’s 1970s mall with crappy t-shirts and a vape store that Connor would spend all day in.

The cabin was huge, up with a view of the town below, nearly three stories made of solid, stripped oak, in the middle of a winding road with a four percent grade. Half the cabin was supported on beams which plummeted down the mountain face. I’d be lucky to stand on the deck without vomiting, let alone being able to venture into the hot tub.

The Murphy’s minivan was already in the drive, trunk shut, meaning they’d unpacked and I’d be left with whatever miniscule space they’d left for me in the loft area.

“Remember to be nice, sweetheart,” my mother crooned again, fluffing her hair in the mirror and giving me an enthusiastic smile in the rearview. “It’s important! They’re practically family.”

Geez, I was lucky to not have Connor Murphy for a cousin.

Slinging my backpack over my arm and exiting the rental car, I took the liberty to stretch, despite the cold air that stung my cheeks and the snow that fluttered down into my hair. This may very well be the last moment of solitude I had for the entirety of the week, and I was going to revel in it.

A movement caught my eye, suddenly, and I lowered myself off my tiptoes to glance up at the second story window–a curtain fluttered shut. It was most likely Zoe or Connor checking out the commotion that was my father and mother bickering over who carried what into the house, and shutting it once they’d realized I caught them. Feeling vaguely uneasy, I turned just as Larry Murphy, bundled in a parka, burst out of the house to take two suitcases from my father.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

——

Cynthia Murphy made me stand by the kitchen counter as she was stocking the cabinet with neon colored cardboard boxes containing various sugary, pink cereals with marshmallows and prizes inside. The Murphy kids were both picky eaters, I remembered quickly, Connor more so than Zoe.

Mrs. Murphy kept playing with my hair, crowing about how much longer it looked (despite the fact I’d cut it since the last time I’d seen her) and how pretty and grown up I’d become, asking me the usually annoying adult questions (“Any thoughts on schools yet? Oh, Connor can’t decide either! Do you know what you’re going to major in? That’s alright, you’ll figure it out soon!”) It would’ve been annoying, I decided, if and only if she didn’t look so sad all the time, the purple bruising under her eyes visible still underneath the layers of makeup. My mother could say whatever she liked about Cynthia Murphy where her wifely duties were concerned–Mrs. Murphy tried to be a good mother (re: tried, period), and that was more than enough to pass her in my book.

In the background, my parents were settling into the second master bedroom, Larry Murphy yelling at the bottom of the stairs to announce our arrival. I could do without the annual reunion, awkward questions about school. The Murphy kids were tolerable–Zoe definitely more so–but it didn’t mean they had to force us together so artificially.

Zoe skimpered down the stairs first, her soft moccasin boots barely making any sound on the stairs–I was surprised to find her long legs bare, her thighs peeking out beneath a pretty pink chiffon dress, covered by what I hoped to be a faux fur parka. Her pretty auburn hair was curled, pulled back with a polka dot headband I could recognize from her childhood. She was wearing eyeliner, and cotton candy flavored lip gloss I remembered sharing when we were thirteen.

It was such a stark contrast from how I remembered her before. The last I’d seen her she’d been gawky and fifteen with a mouth full of metal and a bra full of kleenex. She was practically grown now, and beautiful–it made me feel slightly subpar in my own blue jeans and blue sweater. Regardless, she smiled brightly and skipped over to me, opening her arms to wrap them around my neck.

“It’s so good to see you!” She exclaimed, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek that shocked me, as well as some others–Larry Murphy’s horrified expression was priceless, and I was convinced Connor put her up to it–but I just laughed and hugged her tightly before letting her go.

“You look so pretty,” I told her with a wry grin, and she just tossed the expression back, nodding with a, “So do you!”

“It’s so good to see you girls are still so close,” my mother tittered, beginning to uncork a glass of wine–we didn’t drink much at my house, but the Murphy’s, I knew, did, and my mother certainly wasn’t going to let that go to waste. “Where’s that sweet boy of yours?”

Larry Murphy at the bottom of the stairs, banging on the oak walls, yelling out, “Connor!” was enough to make both the Murphy women flinch visibly. Zoe still had her arm around my waist as we stared up at the ceiling above us, waiting for the squeak of sneakers on the polished wood.

“Don’t yell.”

Zoe jumped away from me as if she’d been burned, pressing herself against the countertop as if to make herself invisible. Mrs. Murphy, her hand clutched to her chest after the initial nose, fought hard to smile believably. I, myself, had jumped at the unexpected sound–Connor Murphy’s curt tenor clear across the room, no where near the stairs, instead standing the doorway were we had just come from. I couldn't  quite make out his frame from here–there was a line of bodies blocking my view, my parents, Mrs. Murphy, and Zoe all formed a human barrier that constructed the divide between Connor and I. Fine by me.

“There you are!” Mrs. Murphy chirped, clearly still nervous, visibly by her shaking voice and hands, fluffing her hair to give her something to do. “You didn’t miss much, Connor, they’ve just arrived.”

My mother said something unintelligent in way of greeting, to which Conner didn’t reply, just shut the door carefully behind him to keep out the cold air. I couldn’t see his face from here, but I could make out that he was much too still for a teenage boy, much too quiet.

“–You remember her, don’t you, Connor?”

My throat closed up as the Red Sea parted, everyone’s heads turning to look between the two of us.

He didn’t move from the doormat–boots  caked in snow, as if he’d gone for a walk, and the bottoms of his skinny jeans were muddy and slick looking. Still, he didn’t shiver, which was slightly unnerving. He was skinnier than I remembered, like he hadn’t been eating, and his face was all angles. He slouched, his pink mouth which was mottled red from the cold was set in a heavy frown. His eyes, which were scanning somewhere around my waist and hadn’t come anywhere near making eye contact since he’d seen me, had blown pupils. Drugs. He was doing drugs in the middle of the afternoon.

He hadn’t cut his hair since I’d seen him last, brown curls poking out of the bottom of a black sock toboggan with a soft pompom on top. It could’ve been funny, I supposed, his rough puberty finishing to leave him left over with this, something akin to a drugged out vogue model who listened to way too much 2008 Fall Out Boy, if he didn’t seem so…unnervingly somber for someone who clearly wasn’t sober. Geez, this kid was a school shooter in the making.

I glanced back up to find him finally staring at my face, shooting an uncomfortable alertness down my spine. His eyebrows were crooked in vague amusement that didn’t seem to reach his mouth, and I felt my face heat up under his scrutiny. If he was trying to intimidate me, it wouldn’t work. I wasn’t scared of boys like him.

“Yeah, I remember her,” he grinned mirthlessly, stuffing his hands into the gut pocket of his hoodie, giving me a nod that, while meant to appease our parents, also felt like a vague threat. I didn’t smile back.

“Great! Wanna show her the room?”

Connor grinned crookedly. “Follow me, kid.”

——

The upstairs layout was just like I remembered  it–Two rooms, one main one in the first entrance with a king bed tucked in the corner, a TV and a few gaming systems with some furniture in the front, a bathroom with two doors which lead through to the other room, which held the fold out couch and television I was accustomed to using.

The Murphy kids already had their belongs strewn about the room–Zoe’s stuff animals and princess blankets eclipsing most of the bed and an ancient Nintendo DS on the table with SpongeBob stickers on the cover that I’m sure belonged to Connor–and it left me very little room to maneuver through.

Connor was silent as he lead me up, as if I didn’t know the way, but surprised me by stopping in front of the king bed, holding out his arms to signal me.

“Your room, my lady.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “This–this is your bed.”

“Not this year. Dad’s decided it’s a little too Flowers In the Attic for Zoe and I to share a bed this year–I’m on the pull out and you girls get to have your fun.” He shot me a bitter smile to let me know he wasn’t thrilled about having the pull-out–he shouldn’t be, the thing was total garbage–but surely he’d enjoy the privacy of it?

“I don’t care to take the pull-out,” I told him, keeping my bag on my shoulder despite the fact it was beginning to be painfully heavy. “If you wanna–”

“Don’t have a choice,” he said, already turning toward the bathroom to walk to his half of the loft. “The bed’s yours.”

——

So, Connor Murphy had turned out to be a total dick. It should’ve unsurprising information, I knew, but part of me still remembered him as a charismatic kid I was, at one point, friends with. Back when the three of us all slept in the king bed, before any of us ever had a zit, when we’d fall asleep in the floor watching early 1990s Pokémon episodes, because Larry Murphy didn’t like them watching it.

Even the Connor I remembered at fourteen, gangly and silent and shy with close-cropped hair felt better than this. I was past uncomfortable, sitting stiffly between he and Zoe on one of the couches in the living room. There was a faux fur blanket hanging behind us, shedding hairs onto Connor’s black jacket, which would’ve been funny if he wasn’t picking at his nails with a slightly rusted pocket knife–I notice he’d painted them, which I oddly admired. I’d kissed a boy earlier this year who painted his nails, and his palms were always soft when he’d reach up to cup my cheeks. It softened Connor in my head, just slightly.

He was careful, I saw, to stay on his side of the couch, leaning into the apex of the arm and the back of the couch rather  than flush with me, his thin legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle to avoid me. I appreciated it, but it didn’t stop me from leaning forward, my elbows on my knees, sitting on the edge of the cushion. I could still feel warmth radiating from him–it was late, and I was tired with a full stomach. If I wasn’t careful, I’d fall right into him, and he’d never let me live that down.

Zoe practically was asleep, leaning forward as well with her head on my shoulder. Cynthia had let her have nearly two glasses of wine at dinner–not enough to get her drunk, but it didn’t change the fact Zoe was still lithe and young, and easily tipsy.

We’d all gone into town for a very awkward dinner–I was just thankful to be placed between my father and Zoe, in a position on the opposite end of the table from Connor, who was stuck in between Larry and Cynthia, looking as if he were in a permanent time out.

Now we were gathered around the coffee table in the cabin, the seven of us hunched over a tiny photo album that I couldn’t really make out from here. There were fuzzy polaroids of us as children, looking nothing like we did now. Connor and I at six, soaked from romping in a sprinkler. Zoe and Connor sharing a chocolate icecream cone, their faces covered in the brown spatter.

“You were all so small,” Mrs. Murphy crowed with a choked voice, covering half her face with her hand in a faux attempt to eclipse the emotion. “Oh, I miss it. You kids used to spend so much time together! Now we only get together for break, and Zoe is so busy there’s hardly enough time for her to spend quality time with her sweet brother.”

Zoe snorted loudly, earning a glare from Mr. Murphy I was positive I wasn’t supposed to see. I snuck a glance at Connor, whose face betrayed no emotion, just staring blankly ahead in the direction of the album. From his position, I was positive he couldn’t see more than the chipped leather cover of the book. Even if he leaned forward, he wouldn’t have been able to see much.

My mother and Mrs. Murphy went out in loud voices in a seamless attempt to pretend the seemingly secret interaction had taken place, so, while the focus was shifted, I turned my attention to Connor.

He didn’t cock an eyebrow this time when he caught me staring, instead just furrowed his eyebrows and looked at me, as if he expected me to speak.

“Can you see?” I asked, nodding my head in the direction of the book.

“I’m fine,” he said immediately–vaguely irritating, I’d admit, but nonetheless understandable. I was sure Cynthia Murphy had spent most of her life making sure Connor was comfortable at all times. Still, this was my olive branch, in an attempt to make this trip a little more tolerable, and Zoe seemed less than likely to console her brother at this point.

“We can change seats, I’m not really looking,” I promised, sitting forward more in my seat to show that I was ready to make the change.

“I’m fi–”

Connor was cut off by a squeal from his mother, who had tossed the book into our laps. It had taken a great deal of squinting, letting my heartbeat slow before I realized she’d been showing us something and not trying to kill some giant bug between us.

The polaroid was grainy, an ivory hue that whitewashed the photo and the years of existence made the picture hard to decipher at first, especially when we were so tired. The time stamp was from the late nineties, glowing yellow in the corner of the frame. I recognized the gilded tub from upstairs that dominated half the bathroom, big enough for three adults easily.

Connor threw to book onto my lap first, like it had scalded him. I should’ve done the same, but it took me a moment. To see, to adjust, to read and understand what was so socially condemning about the photo.

It was Connor, I realized first, small and tanned with bony ribs and chunky fingers and the apples of his cheeks straining against his baby skin. His hair was cropped so short, it looked almost silly. Beside him was me, my hair wild and tangled, curled as if my mother had teased it for dinner. My wide eyes were blazing, much too big for my face, and I was grinning with wet lips at the camera.

We were in the tub, surrounded by big pink bubbles.

We were very, very naked.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal–not really, unless you counted the fact that if this had been printed, our parents would be arrested for child porn. I was mostly covered, sitting beside Connor, my shoulders hunched forward. But Connor was standing, meaning the camera got a very decent view of–

“What the fuck, Mom!” He screaming, standing and ripping the book off my lap. Cynthia’s tittering died immediately, the hands covering her laughed instead covered her horrified face.

This was how it started, I realized.

“It’s not fucking funny,” he growled, tossing the book across the room, banging against the wooden wall with a heavy whomp.  

“That’s enough, Connor,” Larry Murphy growled low in his throat. Cynthia’s head was downcast, her eyes wide and wet. I recognized the emotion immediately–she shut down with conflict the same way Connor did.

“You don’t get to laugh at me for shits and giggles this whole trip,” Connor said, already lunging up the stairs, his hands shaking. “If I wanted to feel shitty, I’d have a conversation with you.”

So much for having a quiet trip.
——
Zoe wasn’t quiet in her gossip about Connor–his door was fashioned shut, I saw, and I doubt he’d come out for the rest of the night. I was positive he could hear his sister’s loud comments from our room.

“Sorry, he’s such an ass,” Zoe groaned, stretching on the bed, her little lilac nightgown shifting across her thighs. “I think his high is wearing off or something–don’t let it bug you. You don’t have to be nice to him, by the way. I’m not gonna let him hurt you.”

I shrugged, noncommittal. “We were friends once. I’m not gonna be mean, he’s never done anything to me.”

Zoe snorted. “You didn’t just see that? He’s a monster, and it gets worse.”

“He just has a temper. Everyone gets like that sometimes.”

I wasn’t sure why I was defending Connor–half because I didn’t want Zoe to tell Connor I disliked him, then he’d actively terrorize me–half because I had no idea why Connor Murphy was so pissed off. It was just a picture. Yeah, embarrassing, I’ll admit I wasn’t too thrilled about eighteen year old Connor Murphy seeing my nipples, and I’ll admit he definitely had the worst end of the stick.

“He loses his shit like that all the time,” Zoe said. “It’s not just a temper.”

“He’s your brother, Zoe,” I reminded gently, brushing out my hair in the bathroom mirror. “Can’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

“He’s no brother of mine,” she whispered, rolling over on the bed and clicking off the light.

——

The next few days passed as the usually did–the adults going places without us, albeit romantic and boring, and leaving the three of us to wander about the town below the mountain crests. It was Zoe’s turn to pick the day’s activity, and she’d chosen the mall.

The place was all dark oak, and hadn’t been remodeled since the late seventies at the earliest. Zoe was chipper, balancing a bag of organic soap and bath bombs on her lap that she’d bought at a local shop, pouring over the cheese fries between us on a plastic red tray.

Connor had also been well-behaved since his outburst several days ago, albeit quiet. He’d separated from us the second we’d arrived, holed out in some record store. Zoe was thrilled to be rid of him, and very vocal about it. I was bored out of my mind.

“Don’t look now,” Zoe said brightly, despite her face suddenly shifting into a mask of disinterest. She bit down on her lip, covered in a pink glitter lipgloss she’d applied much too liberally, and pulled on her pretty auburn braid. “There’s some boys two tables behind us checking you out.”

I felt my face get hot. “You’re lying.”

“Nuh-uh,” Zoe said, leaning into take a sip of her milkshake, biting down on the straw–the look on her face told me she’d got their attention.

“How old are they?” I hissed. The last thing we needed were some creeps following us around the mall–this was how sex trafficking started. Surely Zoe knew that this was a huge red flag.

It was clear from her overzealous wave she didn’t.

I felt a hand on the back of my chair before I saw them–to Zoe’s credit, they were pretty. Both in thick denim blue jeans, both in letterman jackets over white tee-shirts. One was tall, skinny, with pretty dark skin and hair cropped close to his head. The other was a little thicker, pale and short, in badly need from a shave. They were smiling brightly at the two of us in a way that was less awestruck and more closely resembled a triumphant conquest.

“Hello, ladies,” the shorter man greeted, grinning like a shark between Zoe and I. His hair was dark, curling around his temples–handsome, maybe my age, maybe ten years older. It was impossible to tell. There were lines around his eyes that either indicated he smiled too much or was simply older. “What are two cute girls like you doing inside on a day like this–the ski lift is just a walk down the road.”

“We’re here shopping with our brother,” I said immediately, giving a grin. The taller boy quirked his eyebrows at me–his eyes, I noticed, were dark with tawny flecks hidden in them.

“That’s cool,” he said to me, switching places so that the other boy could be closer to Zoe. They both pulled chairs up to our table, facing us. My stomach pinched uncomfortably. “Where’s he at?”

“Nike,” I lied, seeing the sign from the distance and knowing very well that Hot Topic, while probably true, didn’t exactly invoke fear.

“Ah,” he said with a grin, his eyes glancing down at my bare arm with a grin. With two slim fingers, he reached forward to pluck at my woven bracelet Zoe had made me a few nights ago, my name in block letter strung across the twine. His hands were uncomfortably hot, and I drew my arm back into my lap. “Aren’t you cold?” He nodded to my bare arms. I’d left my flannel with Connor, who was sitting on a bench at the time–I hoped he remembered to grab it. I was just wearing a striped cotton tee right now, and my arm had broken out in a case of goosebumps, though I wasn’t sure it was from the cold.

“I’m fine,” I said, careful not to meet his gaze. He was pretty, and if I wasn’t careful, I might end up going somewhere with this guy.

“You know,” he began, and I could hear his grin turn predatory. “You’re very pretty.”

A jolt shot down my spine–I wasn’t pretty, not really, which terrified me. I could hear what the other boy was whispering to Zoe, but I could tell that all the stars were gone from her eyes. She looked pale, panicked. These weren’t the kind of boys we needed to hanging around with.

“I know,” I said quickly. “We really need to call our brother–”

“I think he can wait long enough for me to get your number, right?”

Across the table Zoe laughed, too loudly, pushing back and standing from her chair. She was grinning at the dark haired boy, beckoning her to follow with a jerk of her chin.

“Zoe–”

“We’re gonna run to get some coffee, okay? Connor should be back soon, don’t wait up.”

She didn’t meet my heavy glare for long, and didn’t turn around when I yelled her name. I watched in silent horror as the boy put his hand flush with her lower back.

I was alone.

The panic crept onto the back of my neck long before his thin fingers did. He smelled like cinnamon, strongly, like he’d done one too many sprays with his cologne that morning. When I turned to face him, his tawny eyes were asking.

“Is this the part where you say you’ve got a boyfriend?” He grinned, his teeth blindingly bright in his tan face. He was so close I could see the threads on the collar of his letterman jacket–it looked soft.

There was a possibility, I realized, that they weren’t dangerous. That I was just being paranoid–Zoe wasn’t stupid, and she wouldn’t go off with a strange boy unless she was sure it was safe. Still, they were definitely in college.

And boy, were they pretty.

“I do have a boyfriend, actually,” I said, lifting my chin to meet his gaze so he wouldn’t think I was lying. There was a small voice in the back of my head, screaming, raised on her tip toes that I should just take this plunge–let him hold my hand or kiss him or whatever he wanted to do, because this was a shitty trip and I deserved to be as reckless as the Murphy kids were allowed. I didn’t see a reason why I shouldn’t.

Besides, you know, the obvious.

He quirked an eyebrow. “You have a boyfriend?” He asked, biting back a smirk. I felt the voice in the back of my head get sucker punched by my ego. So, he didn’t think I was pretty after all. Which meant he was dangerous.

Which meant Zoe was in trouble.

“Yes,” I growled, standing, yelping a bit when his hand snaked up to grab at my wrist, nearly breaking my bracelet and keeping me bent over the table.

“Let go,” I hissed–the food court was nearly deserted, and the family in the corner was carefully avoiding my eyes. I wasn’t sure I had the voice to scream.

“I don’t believe you have a boyfriend.”

“Let go, or I’ll scream,” I warned, yanking on my arm. He let go immediately, holding his hand high above his head, which I knew was meant as a gesture of calm, but instead looked an awful lot like he intended to strike me.

“Where’s your boyfriend, then?” He taunted loudly, thrilled to see no one in the court coming to my aid. I felt sick, the panic rising in my chest. Where was Zoe? She was in trouble. I was in trouble. I was going to have to scream–

“He’s right here.”

My arm flailed, immediately cocking back in an attempt to elbow in the stomach whoever had wrapped their arm around my neck, their other spidery hand snaking just slightly under the hem of my t-shirt to splay across my hip, finger tips barely brushing my skin above my jeans. The arms were strong, vice like, pressing me against a hard body, and suddenly I felt limp, panic leaving me as I realized whose familiar smell I was enveloped in.

Hair grazed across my cheekbone, and I could make out the dark locks if I looked out the corner of my eye, and I nearly yelped when I felt lips press chastely against my temple.

I couldn’t make out much of the boy anymore, my eyes level with Connor’s adams apple from where he was pressing me against him.

“Babe,” Connor said cooly, calmly, making my knees knock against his. “Who’s this?”

“H-he’s leaving,” I managed to stutter out, barely a whisper, my voice hoarse. I sounded terrified. No wonder this ass in the letterman jacket hadn’t be intimated by me, I sounded about as frightening as a kitten. Connor pressed his fingers against the nape of my neck, tilting my head against his jugular so that I couldn’t see anything but the pale column of his throat and his dark hair. It was getting difficult to breathe–I felt sick. He moved his hand to wrap around my waist, yanking me tightly to him.

“You heard her,” Connor said, again stoic–half of me wished I could see his face, but the other half knew it would be terrifying. Connor’s temper was legendary and destructive–to see him so angry wouldn’t make the fist in my gut unclench. “Go. Take your friend with you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then two. I couldn’t hear much but my own shaky breathing, warm and wet against Connor’s neck, his hair making the space much too hot. I wasn’t aware I had knotted my fingers into his shirt until he started walking, dragging my stumbling form forward with him. He was going fast, too fast for me to keep up, and my chest could only rise so far before deflating painfully.

“You gotta breathe,” he grunted, one of his arms still around me. His face felt hot against me.

“Z-zoe!” I choked out, realizing I had no idea where she was. She could still be with that boy, be in danger–

“Oh, Christ,” he exclaimed bitterly, letting go and beginning to trudge forward. I was terrified briefly, suddenly overwhelmed with the fact I didn’t know where I was. There was a Game Stop, and a Victoria’s secret, the neon lighting combined with the screaming toddlers and the kissing teens and Connor was leaving

An arm swept up from behind me, leading me just as quickly, mumbling something I couldn’t make out into my ear.

“Zoe!” I grinned, immediately feeling safer, feeling my fear melt away just smidgen in my gut.

“I’m so so sorry I left,” she sobbed. “I went looking for a cop, but I found Connor first and I told him you were in trouble–”

“It’s fine,” I said immediately, surprised that my voice was no longer wet. “Thanks, Zoe.”

I was calm, or, at least calmer by the time we reached the van. Connor was waiting by the passenger side door, which was opened, leaning against a scratch in the silver paint. He wasn’t looking at us, instead appearing to observe the silver snowflakes as they fell.

My reflection in the side mirror revealed my face was red and blotchy, not just from the cold wind. I felt gross–guilty for the fact I hadn’t been able to defend myself and Zoe, guilty for the fact Connor Murphy was the one who had to come to my rescue, and guilty for the fact I’d cried all over him. His zipped up hoodie seemed to have escaped the mess, but that didn’t mean I didn’t feel awful. 

He stepped out of the way when I made it close, gesturing for me to get in the passenger side door while glaring at the ground. I was only vaguely surprised, and followed along immediately. Zoe and I almost always rode together in the back. I let Connor shut the door, ignoring the disgusted look Zoe gave as she got into the back.

Connor hoisted himself into the driver’s seat, surprising me with a costume change, reappearing in only a forest green tee. He held out his hoodie to me, balled up in one of his fists without looking at me, before just tossing it into my lap.

“I–”

“I left your flannel in the back. Put that on or you’ll freeze.”

He licked his lips, staring coldly out the front window, before starting the car. I swallowed. Yeah, he definitely hated me.

“Okay.”

——

“You’re sure you’re alright, honey?” My mother asked for the third time. Her hair was tied up, her pink bathrobe covering little of her cleavage and bare legs. She was cradling a wine bottle in her hands, looking at me in faux concern.

I gave her a soft smile. “I’m fine,” I lied. I’d calmed considerately. Connor and Zoe had both agreed I needed to shower to wash off the panicked look on my face–I’d asked them to keep the days happenings a secret. They’d reluctantly agreed.

She gave me a clipped smile. “Maybe you should go to bed early, yeah? That’s what I plan to do.”

I nodded, scratching at my bare leg. I’d taken advantage of Zoe’s absense and changed into boxer shorts and an oversized tee with a kitten on the front–she and Cynthia had headed into town for the night, spending the night at a spa and would be gone for a few days, and my father had taken his annual ‘me time’ and booked a hotel downtown to do his own thing. I think Mr. Murphy went with him, but regardless, he was out of the house. It was just me and my mother.

And Connor. I tried not to think about it. I planned on offering him the big bed tonight, in way of thanking him for today, but we hadn’t spoken much since the incident and I felt…odd. Unsure how to thank him. Unsure why he helped.

I supposed the Murphy men were just gentlemen, even under all that teen angst.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’m probably gonna sit out on the balcony and then head to bed.”

She grinned. “Don’t stay out too late, it’s almost down to single digits, dear.”

I just nodded, sliding off the countertop, and slinking upstairs. I was surprised to see Connor sitting on the bed. I grinned.

He looked different, to say the least. He was still without his jacket, wearing only his tee and jeans, and little pair of socks with stars on them, which did seem a little out of character, but I assumed Cynthia bought them. His head perked when he saw me, simply craning his neck, keeping his shoulders bowed forward over his body.

He looked small, I realized. He didn’t look like a boy who punched holes in walls or scared off very big very scary men in shopping mall food courts. He looked like a vogue model with a little too much innocence.

He gave me a grin with no teeth, and it didn’t quite meet his eyes, but I gave him a sheepish smile back.

“Hey,” I greeted, tugging on my top to cover my shorts a little better–Connor Murphy didn’t have any interest in seeing my thighs. Despite all the panic, I’d been playing over and over in my head the comment the boy in the mall had made, incredulous that I had a boyfriend. It was silly to let it sting me, considering he probably wanted to stuff me in a van, but it crippled me nonetheless.

“Hey,” he greeted back, not rising from the bed.  I waited for him to speak again, and when he said nothing, I continued.

“I, uh, meant to say, since Zoe’s gone, you can have the big bed like good old times.”

He frowned. “I don’t need the bed.”

“I don’t either,” I promised, leaning against the banister. “Plus,” I sighed, scratching at the back of my head. “I’m not entirely sure how to thank you for today. I’d probably be selling for a low ball price on the dark web right now, if it wasn’t for you. So, thanks.”

Connor was still frowning. “You’ve had a really rough day. You should take the bed.”

“No,” I insisted, beginning to get frustrated. “I’m really okay, I promise. I can’t give you anything else, take the bed.”

His dark eyebrows knit together quickly, licking his lips again nervously. “I don’t–”

“Plus,” I cut him off again with a curt laugh. “I owe you for your Oscar performance. That was crazy, you know. I can’t believe you fooled him into thinking a guy like you would be with a girl like me.”

His head snapped up. “A guy like me?” He reiterated coldly. I felt my face grow hot.

“You know,” I said quietly.

“Know what?”

“That you’re cool,” I muttered. “And nice looking. And I’m not.”

I was thankful for the warm lighting in the room, concealing my red face. It was already dark out, the blinds drawn tightly. Connor’s fists clenched in the white lace comforter on the bed. I didn’t want him to feel bad for me, and I sort of regretted saying it. Connor had already seen me blubbering today and he didn’t need my shitty teen angst to deal with.

He bit down on his lower lip, staring coldly at the ground before murmuring, “I need a shower. Take the bed.”

I shook my head. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

He just nodded, rising from the bed. “Don’t get too far. It’s cold out.”

Connor shut the bathroom door behind him, and I was left feeling like a total idiot. I could hear the shower running before I left, snagging Connor’s grey jacket from my bed post and sliding it on. I went down the stairs, sliding out the first door to the outside, stepping out onto the first floor balcony. I made a mental note to the shut the blinds later, before walking around to the front of the cabin.

I should’ve been thrilled to be alive, I realized, snorting at how melodramatic that sounded. Still, as I burrowed deeper into Connor’s jacket, watching my thighs turn red from the cold, I realized that I was shrouded in a veil of melancholy I wouldn’t be able to shake off.

I missed Connor. I missed being his friend. I missed him coming over for play dates when we were kids, gauzy fairy wings strapped to our backs, jumping on a trampoline when Zoe was still to young to participate. I missed writing him letters, like a pen pal, despite the fact he only lived on the opposite side of town. Going to different schools hadn’t deterred us, for a while, at least. We had sleepovers every birthday, and Zoe told the best scary stories. I remembered hiding under Connor’s bed with him, a hand clasped over my mouth so Zoe wouldn’t hear our breathing.

I remembered kissing him when we were in kindergarten, ridiculously late at night, a quick smack on the lips during a game of pretend. I’d kissed Zoe, too, when we were probably much too old for it, but thinking of Connor tugged on my chest.

It stopped as we turned twelve, I realized. I never saw him–he was still playing little league, and I stopped coming to his games to pick dandelions with Zoe. He was beginning to get teased. My parents insisted the slumber parties should stop, we were too old. Every time Connor and I were together at birthdays or Christmas parties, adults would joke about when we’d fall in love, how soon would it be before we got married. We avoided each other like the plague, unless we knew we could be alone. And we were never alone.

Connor hid inside himself. Zoe made fun of him at parties, loudly. I kept quiet.

He stopped calling during the summer months. He never rode his bike by my house. The only time I saw Connor Murphy was the annual ski trip.

I missed him. He’d been a childhood friend, and I’d let him go without a second thought to save myself some shred of dignity, like it wouldn’t be ripped away from me regardless.

Connor Murphy was nothing to be ashamed of.

And now it was too late to be his friend.

It had started to snow again, so I wiped my face and rose, walking the opposite way I had come, skirting the stairs–they led to the upstairs, but only to Connor’s room, and I didn’t plan to barge in uninvited, especially if he was still in the shower, two rooms blocked me from getting to the king bed, so I’d have to walk all the way around the house.

The lights were out, I saw, but again no one had bothered to close the blinds. The television might have been on, a dim blue glow resounding onto the leather couch–

I froze.

As it turned out, my mother hadn’t gone to bed. The television was on, showing some late show with some old white man making cracks about some politician I didn’t care for, casting the blue haze onto the coffee table, revealing the wine bottle my mother had been cradling. Two empty glasses sat on the table–my mother’s bathrobe crinkled on the floor.

I was disgusted in a comedic way, just for a moment, to see my mother in her nightgown kissing my father, who my brain had filled in under the assumption he’d arrived back.

I’d begun backing up to the stairs, Connor Murphy’s naked body be damned, when I realized my father’s car had never pulled up, and I’d been on the front porch the whole time.

A better look in the window revealed a man a little older, a little more gray and a little more handsome than my father.

I was sprinting by the time Larry Murphy had begun to peel his shirt off his back.

I didn’t knock by the time I’d made it to Connor’s room, just threw open the door, struggling to get my breathing under control. I stumbled to the pull out couch, dragging the sheets up around my freezing legs. I was in shock, I knew, and I needed to calm down before Connor came in–the bathroom door was shut, but I couldn’t hear the shower anymore, despite the steady trickle of steam coming through the cracks. I was trapped in this room until Connor came out.

My mother was cheating on my father Larry Murphy. Larry Murphy was cheating on his wife with my mother. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t believe it, I had to have made it up, this had to be a dream–

“What are you doing in here?”

It was an exclamation, alarmed, grasping a towel tight with thin white knuckles.

Connor. Connor in a towel. Connor wet with slick hair and chest hair and navel and hip bones. Connor Murphy, son of Larry Murphy, who had his tongue down my mom’s throat–

“Hey, breathe, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

By the time my eyes snapped back into focus, Connor was struggling to pull on grey basketball shorts without dropping his towel, and I dropped my gaze back to my shaking hands, almost startlingly red from the temperature change and what was most likely shock. I was hyperventilating, struggling to smother the sobs. I knew this deep in the house, they probably wouldn’t hear me–they were most definitely preoccupied anyway. 

The bed dipped, and Connor’s bare side brushed my thigh. I didn’t mean to jerk back, but I did, clinging to the arm of the couch and staring horrified–Connor looked almost hurt, but mostly panicked. I tried to calm down, for his sake.

“S-sorry!” I sobbed. “Sorry! I-I-I didn’t mean–I didn’t mean–I didn’t–I–”

“Hey, stop, breathe. You gotta breathe. Go slow, okay? Stop tryna talk,” he commanded, holding up his hands to show he wasn’t gonna hurt me, readjusting so that he sat up on his knees, leaning  over me to take my hands, rubbing them between his own despite the claminess.

I avoided his eyes, focusing instead on the dip of his collar bone, surprised to see thin lines of chest hair, wet and plastered to his chest. He was skinny, and I could see his ribs despite the tiny stomach roll from where he folded in the middle. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles across the backs of my hands, and for a moment, I didn’t think. I could’ve forgotten everything and fallen asleep right here with him.

He pulled my hands against his chest, cradling mine in his own, pulling me forward, asking with his slate eyes if it was alright.

I pretended we were friends.

“You wanna talk about that?” He asked very softly, looking down at where our hands were clasped against him–he was warm, his skin pink and hot from the shower. He’d combed his hair back out of his face, and it was almost cute like that. “If it’s about today, I promise you’re safe, alright? I wasn’t gonna let that guy hurt you.”

My heart sunk in my chest, nearly restarting my panic attack. I shook my head.

Connor deserved to know.

I was scared, briefly, that it would set him off. He might yell at me, throw things, kick me out of the room. He might hit me.

I didn’t care. He had a right to know.

I swallowed thickly, shaking my head. “N-no.”

“Did something happen on your walk? Are you okay?”

I shook my head.

“What? Trouble back home–your boyfriend break up with you or something?”

“My mom–” I started, voice breaking, feeling fresh tears of shock on my cheeks.

His eyebrows furrowed, tightening his grip on my hands. “Is she okay? She–”

I saw it in slow motion–his jaw unclenched, eyebrows relaxing from their set, pouted mouth turning down. It was calm. It was knowing.

“You saw them,” he said very softly, letting my hands fall back into his lap. I was too shocked to move them away from his thighs.

“You knew,” I spat–an accusation. I hadn’t meant to make it one.

Connor scrubbed at his eyes roughly, flopping onto his back against the bed. Frustrated.

“I was tired of my dad reading my fucking emails, so I hacked into his–I only saw a few. I didn’t want to see anymore.”

I paled, feeling nauseous. “So it’s happened before?” I choked.

He swallowed. “That was two summers ago.”

“Fuck,” I hissed uncharacteristically, surprised to find Connor stretching out an arm to me. I took his hand with a firm grip. “How long before then.”

He shrugged. “Maybe our whole lives. Maybe before. I’m not sure, angel.”

I nodded, secretly pleased that he was so calm. It kept me level, grounded, watching where our hands were linked.

“What do we do?” I choked. “I have to tell my dad. He deserves to know.”

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed. “Everything would change. He’d tell my mom.”

I bit down on my lip, folding down onto my back to lay down beside Connor. “I hadn’t considered that.”

Connor sighed, scratching at my hand tenderly with his black painted nails. “I’m not sure that my mom and Zoe could handle the news–it’s not like they’d turn to me. They’d be alone. Zoe might even take my dad’s side.”

I groaned, stealing my hands to scrub at my eyes. My wet hair was beginning to dry in a tangled mess.

“This is too much,” I mumbled, rolling onto my side to face Connor, staring at his bare, freckled shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. If I can do anything.”

I jumped a foot out of my skin when he placed a hand at the corner of my jaw, brushing the tangled hair back out of my face. “You don’t have to think about it right now. You’ve had a really long fucking day. You should sleep.”

I didn’t want to sleep–I didn’t want Connor to leave. I didn’t know how to say that.

I couldn’t believe that everyone had tried to desperately to convince me Connor Murphy was a bad boy–fuck them, Connor Murphy was good. He was better than everyone in this cabin combined.

He cared about me.

I caught his wrist, which froze in my grasp, but I just took his bony hand and cradled it between my hands the same way he’d done mine, tracing the lines across his palm. He sucked  in a sharp breath.

“Okay,” I said, and he smiled, moving away. I let go of his hand.

“I just have to turn off the light. Get comfy.”

His retreating footsteps filled my stomach with dread, but nevertheless I unzipped his jacket and draped it on top of the blanket so that it would at least keep my feet warm. Pulling the pillow tight behind my head, I was pleased to find it sort of smelled like Connor’s shampoo as the light clicked off. It left me feeling a little more safe. Ironic, I realized. I was in the middle of a wilderness, I’d almost been abducted, my mother was downstairs ruining our family, and all I could find myself to be worried about was if Connor would be okay.

The bed dipped behind me, shocking me into stillness, surprising me even more when someone lifted the sheet and slid in behind me, a bony hand resting on my hip.

“This okay?” He asked, and I dared to open my eyes to meet his. They were unsure, nervous. He was scared I’d reject him. I nodded, scooting closer.

“It really will be okay, you know,” he assured. “Whatever you choose, I’m gonna be with you.”

“You’re amazing,” I said without thinking, but being entirely sincere. Even in the dark, I saw his eyes go wide and his cheeks tinge a deep magenta in his pale face.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” I assured with a laugh, reaching across the divide to poke at his side, slightly surprised to still find him shirtless. He’d withdrawn his hand almost immediately, keeping respectfully to his side of the bed. “I’d be dead without you. And you’ve supported me this whole way.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched, freeing one of his arms to pick at the wrinkled sheets between us. “I just, fuck, I knew you’d hear some shit, but I was hoping you’d be able to come out here and we could start over again, like before? Zoe started her smear campaign almost immediately. I just, fuck, nevermind.”

I watched him withdraw, turning over with his back to me, the pale plains of his back bared to me.

“Con,” I said very softly. “I don’t care what they say–fuck them,” I laughed, watching Connor’s shoulders shake. “I think you’re good, Connor, and I miss being your friend.”

I watched with bated breath as his back rose and fell with his steady breath in the cold room, his skin radiating heat. I shifted closer, crossing the divide between us. He didn’t respond.

I didn’t sleep.

——

I was alerted late in the day by a noise–it was daylight, I noted, the clock on the bedside table reading it was almost noon. I was groggy, still in the state between sleep and consciousness. The room was shrouded in a bright grey hue from the winter wonderland outside–it had snowed a significant amount, apparently, and the white fluff stuck hopelessly to the window.

At the foot of the bed, Connor was on his knees, pulling a navy sweater over his head. It was tight, with a stretched collar and holes at the hem, but he looked good in it. His hair was frizzed at the temples, and his eyes were wide when we saw me.

“You’re awake.”

I just nodded, a little embarrassed. Part of me hoped Connor would just let last night drop, and we could continue our indifference toward each other, but most of me felt as if we had an unfinished conversation to attend to.

“Is anyone back yet?” I asked, surprised as Connor came to sit in front of me, legs crossed kindergarten style. He shook his head.

“No, actually. No one came back from their trip, and the lovebirds have miraculously vanished for a ski day. It’s just me and you.”

“Oh.”

Connor seemed unsure for a moment, brushing his hands off on his pants. “I’m sorry, um, about last night? I should’ve asked first if it was okay to sleep next to you, I just–I know you said you missed being friends, so I thought–”

“It was nice,” I cut him off with a smile that was nearly all false bravado. “Warm. I really do miss hanging out with you.”

He pursed his lips in way of a smile. “Me too. Miss having friends, period, but you’re kinda great, so–I’ll shut up.”

Stretching, I groaned with the sensation and smiled widely at him. “We can be friends again, don’t you think?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. When my vision cleared, he was sitting by my feet, eyes downcast.

“It’s kinda lame, isn’t it?” He asked, sending ice down my spine.

“What, I’m not cool enough for you?” I teased half heartedly, despite feeling slightly sick. If Connor left now, I’d be marooned on this island I’d made for myself, and it wasn’t ideal knowing I no longer had any allies.

“No! That’s not what I–no, fuck, I just meant. Don’t you like Zoe better?”

I shook my head. “I like Zoe–but I liked you first.”

“Yeah, I liked the Teletubbies first, doesn’t mean I prefer them to Death Cab for Cutie.”

I snorted. “Okay, I like you best. You’re both really similar, you know, but you’re kinder.”

He shot me a glare, which I supposed I’d earned. “Liar.”

“Can’t lie,” I protested. “And I like you better. Get used to it.”

He swallowed, shifting on the bed and looking at me again as if grappling to say something. His eyebrows were pinched in the middle, making him look slightly worried, small. I watched the way his mouth bowed as he opened and closed it, my eyes tracing over his soft lips.

He was pretty, I realized, in a way I wouldn’t have considered before.

“What about when you leave?” He asked softly, scratching his arm absently.

I frowned. “What about it?”

“We won’t see each other again.”

I smiled. “Connor, you just live on the other side of town. I do own a car.”

He frowned. “You’d come to see me?”

“If you wanted me to,” I answered honestly. “Or we could go do stuff. It doesn’t make me any difference–whatever you want, I’m game for.”

His eyebrows took a sharp hike into his hairline. “Whatever I want, huh?”

My stomach clenched nervously–decidedly a good kind of nervous. I didn’t realize it till he placed his hand on my ankle, grinning up at me with crooked teeth and pretty eyes, that I might’ve begun to develop a small crush on him.

Which wasn’t okay.

——

“This is such bullshit.”

I cackled as Connor continued to strap on his snow boots, repeatedly tripping and losing his balance in the snow.

“C'mon, it’s fun!” I protested, pulling my sock toboggan down tighter over my ears, trudging another few slow steps through the slush. Connor was frustrated, I could tell, seeing his pink nose and ears, his breaths coming out in angry puffs of smoke.

“No,” he grunted, dragging himself up the trail a few more steps. “Video games are fun. Cartoons are fun. Cheap Internet porn is fun. Dragging my frozen ass up a mountain covered in snow for ten miles is not my idea of fun, dude.”

“It’s not ten miles,” I protested, taking a seat on a mostly clean looking rock, patting the seat beside me in condolence to Connor, giving him a much needed break. He’d agreed to go outside with me at least once to take a hike, since the Murphy kids never ever wanted to do anything that didn’t involve fried food or touristy tie dye t-shirts. We’d been going for a few hours now, and the last bench had easily been miles ago. I wanted to see where the trail ended.

Part of me was scared he’d only agreed because he thought I would break. I’d surprised myself with how calm I’d been after, well, what a nightmare this trip had been. I supposed I’d be worse once my dad got back–but he wasn’t yet, so I was content to have my last moments with Connor.

“We’ve been out here for hours, man, don’t you think we should head back before it gets dark?” He whined, leaning forward on his elbows and rubbed his hands together–he had on mittens, which was probably the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Say what you want about Connor Murphy, his aesthetic was absolutely demolished once you put him in a fire engine red puffer coat.

I sighed, glancing wistfully up the trail. I’d like to finish, but Connor was right–it was getting dark, too dangerous out for us to be out here alone. He’d humored me enough for today.

Time to go back and face reality.

I just nodded, stuffing my hands in my pockets and rising from the rock, giving a decent stretch before moving forward back down the path, Connor scurrying along beside me.

“Thanks for coming,” I said again, nudging him with my shoulder. He stumbled gracefully, grinning with a subdued force that warmed me a little, before checking me back with his shoulder.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he warned, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “But it wasn’t totally awful.”

I snorted. “I won’t let anyone know Connor Murphy can feel fun.”

Biting back a smile, he nudged me again. “God, please don’t. Then they might bring me back here and I’ll have to spend another two weeks with you.”

“I’m sure I’m just killing you inside,” I teased. “How dare your parents give you unfiltered access to a teenage girl.”

“Who never wears pants around the house,” he added sagely.

“And sleeps in your bed!” I choked with laughter, the bird walking along the snow path in front of us clearing the way. “God, I can’t believe I did that. I’m sorry, I was probably awful. Did I snore?”

His mouth twisted, as if trying to look indifferent but instead just failed at smothering a smile, both corners of his lips turning in a different direction.

“Not awful,” he offered, earning an embarrassed groan from me. “No! It’s cute, like a kid, I promise. You kicked the shit out of me, though.”

“You’re kidding me,” I groaned. “I’m so so sorry! I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Might be some bruises,” he grinned, to my further mortification. “Hey, nah, I’m kidding. Any damage will heal. It’s kinda funny.”

I cocked an eyebrow from where I was hiding my face behind my gloves. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it,” he said, reaching out to take my wrist, pulling one of my hands away from my face. He didn’t realize it, just held it, swinging stiffly between us as we walked. He held his breath for a moment before continuing, “I would’ve let you know if I didn’t like it.”

“Kinky,” I said upon reflex, earning a lazy kick to my ankle.

“You’re hilarious. I just meant you’re warm, maybe the bruises are worth it.”

I felt my face get hot, words forming in my belly, escaping before I could choke them back. “Yeah? Maybe I’ll kiss them better tonight, if Zoe isn’t back.”

He let go of my wrist like I’d burned him.

“Sor–”

“Don’t,” he said quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, beginning to walk quickly ahead of me.

“What?” I screeched, frustrated.

“Don’t fake flirt with me. It’s not funny,” he spat, continuing walking too fast on his ridiculously long legs.

“Who said it was fake?” I grumbled. “I’m not making fun of you, Connor.”

There was a beat of silence, pulling at my heart with sharp claws, the dull ache starting in my chest and spreading. I’d messed up everything.

“It’s getting dark,” he growled. “And we don’t have a flashlight. Try and keep up.”

——

The panic set in at twilight.

We were running.

He was holding my hand again, dragging me roughly down the mountain, hoping desperately to see some kind of light pollution as the sun set, but there was nothing.

“We should see lights by now,” I told him. “We can see the lights from our cabin, we should see the lights now.”

“We went down the wrong side of the mountain,” he gasped, already out of breathe. I knew his lungs weren’t the best, and we’d been running for awhile now.

“There has to be something at the bottom,” I whispered hopelessly.

“There is,” he growled. “It’s called a gorge, then you climb the other mountain, and there’s the next state. Fuck, how did we get so turned around?”

“Doesn’t matter, Con,” I said hopelessly. “It’s gonna be dark soon.”

His dark eyes widened. “You aren’t sincerely suggesting we try to find shelter. In the middle of a national park.”

“I’ve got a flare gun and a flint,” I told him. “But we have to get back up out of the trees.”

“You want us to climb the mountain again?” He hissed, holding both my hands now. “Are you positive you don’t have signal?”

I nodded. “I’m really sorry, Connor.”

“Don’t be sorry. Start walking.”

——

It was an accident.

It was dark.

I had an analog watch, letting me know it was nearly nine pm. We’d found shelter just as it had started to snow–the  ground here was wet, quickly freezing into ice, and we kept slipping up on the trail. I’d set off the flare an hour ago, and, so far, nothing. The snow had begun to pick up, and we’d found a alcove between two adjacent rocks–not big, about the size of a walk in closet, but enough space for us, our bags, and a pile of wood that refused to light. It kept the snow and wind off of us, and the alcove was high enough I felt safe, with a small mouth that made me feel as if at any instant we could be trapped.

It was an accident.

“The fire won’t light,” I said again, hopelessly, watching my now bloody fingers go numb from trying desperately to get the flint to do its job. I couldn’t feel them without my gloves on.

Connor, huddled in a corner, viciously rubbed his arms in an attempt to get warm. I knew the  temperature would only drop from here. If someone hadn’t seen the flare….

“There’s no dry wood. I checked.”

“Nothing?”

“No, okay? Nothing. That’s it.”

I knew he was right–and searching now would only prove to be counter productive and dangerous. I moved our bags and the pile of firewood to the entrance, sealing us in.

“It’s gonna be pitch black soon,” I warned, watching Connor tap angrily at his phone. “You should probably save your battery. I don’t have a flashlight.”

He snorted. “You’ll bring sleeping bags and a flint, but not a flashlight?”

“It’s the emergency bag! I didn’t pack it, Connor. Make fun of it all you want, but it’s keeping us alive!”

There was a beat of silence, before he clicked his phone off, leaving us in darkness. “M sorry.”

I dragged out the single sleeping bag, stretching it out to him. “Don’t be sorry.” I felt guilty–it was my fault we were in this mess to begin with. “Wanna granola bar?”

“Save it,” he said in a clipped tone, unsure what to make of it since we were veiled in darkness. “We might need it later.” Then, softer: “What’s the plan?”

I heard him stand, and walk across the slick ice of the alcove, coming to stand beside me, his hand at my elbow.

“Well,” I said very slowly, feeling my throat get thick. “Survive the night, stay awake, and once dawn hits we head back to the other side of the mountain, if no one comes.”

“If no one comes,” he echoed, voice oddly hollow. I choked.

“It, erm, is very possible they think we just wandered off, you know? We’re teenagers,” I reminded gently. I left out the part the police would be less than willing to look–Connor had a history of running away after a bad binge.

“Fuck,” he growled.

It was an accident. It was quick, in the dark, we couldn’t see.

He reached our for me, his open palm colliding with the back of my head, yanking me tightly again his chest, my nose buried in his nylon puffer coat. I felt his other hand, too forcefully, at the small of my back, and I nearly screamed, terrified this was an episode I couldn’t control–

“We’re gonna make it outta here,” he breathed against my ear, his breath warm and humid against my freezing ears. It set off a light bulb in my brain. “We’re gonna go back home and–fucking shit, I’m gonna be a goddamn good friend to you and we’re gonna–fuck,” he hissed, his clipped voice breaking off. “I’m gonna take care of you, I’m not going anywhere.”

I let myself break open, collapsing against him, openly sobbing with regret. He stiffened, but just tightened his arms around me despite our bulky clothes.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “This is all my fault.”

“It is not,” he hissed, shaking me a little. “We had no way of knowing this would happen. The trail looked safe.”

I just nodded, knowing that arguing would tire me out. I felt the lethargy begin to creep in my bones–Connor was warm, and it was late, and we were tired. Falling asleep meant dying.

“Get out the sleeping bag,” he said, extracting himself from me, and I heard his hands scrape along the hard rock looking for the entrance. “And I’ll look for some more blankets in the bag, see if we can’t insulate–fuck!

“What is it?” I screeched, turning, grabbing his hand to only find that my own was suddenly wet, almost sticky, and Connor pulled away with a howl. I smelled the metallic sting before I realized.

“Something cut my hand!”

“Stay away from the wall,” I warned. “Take your undershirt off, I’ll rip it up.” I felt around desperately for Connor’s phone, immediately illuminating our little cave with a blinding blue light.

The amount of blood smeared across the wall was nauseating. There was a sharp spot Connor must’ve grabbed too quickly.

He was crying, trying desperately to unzip his coat with one hand, the other dripping onto the floor.

“Fuck, I hope something doesn’t smell that,” I whispered, laying down the light and running to help him get undressed, careful of the open cut across his palm.

“I knew I was gonna get naked tonight,” he said with an unsure laugh, “I just didn’t realize it would be like this.”

My face flushed. “What, you thought I’d suck you off because we’re about to die?”

He shivered, accentuated by me ripping his white shirt down the front, exposing his blue, goosebumped skin.

“Fuck,” he hissed, and I was unsure if it was from the cold, the pain, or my foul language.

“Hope this is clean,” I muttered, wrapping a strip of his white shirt across his palm in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. It was a good way to get an infection, but I wasn’t sure what else to do.

“I didn’t–I wouldn’t ask you to–”

“I’m not sucking you off!”

“Fuck, I just meant–hypothermia, skin to skin, I saw it in a movie–”

The phone light clicked off. I sighed, tying off the cotton bandage.

“You wanna get naked in the sleeping bag,” I finished.

“I don’t want to!” He howled. “And not naked–just, enough to stay alive, shit. It’s gonna be negative ten out here soon, I just wanna stay alive.”

“We should hurry,” I said, surprising myself by reaching out to urge him to rub at his bare chest, earning a gasp from him. “You’re gonna freeze soon. Get your pants off.”

I handed him the sleeping bag, my breath catching as I heard his belt clink to the floor, trying very hard not to think about the implications of this. How far did he expect me to undress? And, if we did get in here, it would be ridiculously tight, we might fall asleep–

“Hurry up, this bag is an icicle with one person.”

Straightening out my bra and panties (even if we were going to die, Connor Murphy did not get to cop a feel) I felt my way to the sleeping bag.

My hand on his chest, he guided my legs one at time–one by his side, one between his knees–and gently folded me down against him, uncomfortably tight as his shaking fingers zipped the sleeping bag up.

He was breathing hard against my temple, and I immediately began to sweat–between the nylon bag and the fact I felt all of Connor Murphy pressed against my chest and stomach–it was nerve wracking.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he reminded in a hoarse voice, shaking a little. I couldn’t quite figure out where his hands were.

“Don’t get a boner,” I begged, earning a beat of silence before:

“I, uh, am–I’m really trying not to,” he groaned, and I could feel how hot his face was against my temple.

“If it helps,” I said, slightly disgusted. “You can imagine our parents kissing. That really kills my fire.”

“Ew,” he said. “Please don’t.”

I grinned. “What? You don’t want me to be your hot step sister?”

Stop it,” he begged, making me laugh, pressing my face against the soft cushion of his hair, nosing at the column of his throat. He groaned a little, and I felt his fingers twitch beside my hips.

“I can’t believe their secret is going to die with us,” I sighed. “No one is ever going to know.”

“I can’t believe you’re lying on top of me in your spiderman panties, but that’s also happening, so you’d better believe it,” he sighed, hands twitching again.

“You can touch me, you know,” I breathed, a little embarrassed against his ear. “We’re gonna die anyway, might as well die comfy.”

“We won’t die,” he promised, his hands clasping over the small of my back regardless.  “Hey,” he crooned, in a soft voice I hadn’t heard before. Encouraging. “Remember sharing a sleeping bag when we were kids?”

I laughed half heartedly, remembering fully. “The thing was always full of pixie stick wrappers.”

“It was an addiction, and I have quit,” he said sagely, earning another laugh from me. I almost joked about the pot, but part of me knew it wasn’t a funny joke. It didn’t have anything to do with him. He sighed, one finger trailing up my spine. “God, I was so in love with you.”

I froze against him, my body a live wire. His hand pulled back.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said tha–”

“Were you really?” I asked. I felt him smile, before leaning in to kiss my cheek, slowly, his dry lips lingering.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” he groaned. “Zoe had me convinced you were just humoring me because you knew I’d do anything for you.”

I pulled up, as far as I could (which wasn’t much) squinting to make out his face in the dark. “That wasn’t true. You were my best friend.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I know. God, that time when you kissed me….I’m so sorry we stopped talking. I don’t think I’m ever gonna forgive myself for that.”

“Connor,” I said very softly, reaching up to tangle my hands lightly in his hair. “If we’re gonna die…can I just….”

He surged up before I could, the nylon around us snapping taunt, squeaking in protest. Up on his elbows, his bony hands found their purchase on my bare hips, and I felt the wetness through one of the bandages–his hand was still bleeding, the idiot.

His lips were dry, and he kissed much too roughly for someone who wasn’t holding my head in place, our teeth clinking together in a way that I knew was an accident, sending my skull ringing. His eyes were squeezed shut in the darkness.

I can’t believe it took us to the brink of death for him to admit this.

God, he’s an idiot.

I reached up, pulling at his hair, holding his head to mine, his tongue licking roughly up into my mouth before breaking away–

“Boner,” he warned in a squeak, earning a loud laugh from me, collapsing against his chest.

“Not even in death, Murphy, am I sucking you off on a first or last date,” I giggled against his neck, giving him a chaste kiss there, listening to him groan. His hips canted a little, scaring me, before taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“First date, huh?” I felt him grin, followed by a yawn.

“Stay awake, Connor,” I urged, smacking him hard. “Or I’m gonna twist your nipple.”

“Kinky,” he sighed lethargically. Shit, he was gonna sleep.

“Connor–”

“Promise me this,” he sighed, nuzzling lightly against the side of my face. “If we survive the night by some miracle, and we don’t freeze to death or get eaten by bears or bleed out–you wanna kiss me again? With more clothes on? As my girlfriend?”

I leaned into his touch, tilting my head up to give him access to suck a hickey into my neck, groaning.

“Murphy, if we live, I will suck you off.”

That was the last thing I remembered.

——-

Three days later, it’s still cold. I’m not wearing much–a blue gown with shitty pink flowers, it’s made of some kind of plasticy cotton material. There’s blood under my fingernails and bruises on my neck that are almost embarrassing when I remembered how I got them. My clothes were gone.

Connor was gone.

My mother and father were leaning over my bed, the Murphy's  (minus Cynthia) are behind them. No Connor.

They explained it slowly, eyes wide. They found Connor and I nearly frozen, unconscious. Connor lost a lot of blood, they said, and he wasn’t do so well but he’d woken up several days before me.

He wouldn’t eat until they let him see me.

I’d nearly ripped out my IV to get to him.

He was wearing the same shitty hospital gown, his hair pulled back. He’s got hickies I don’t remember giving him across his collarbone that are ridiculously visible. There were purple bruises under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping.

“They said you were still too sick to get out of bed,” he grinned, opening his arm, and I immediately stumbled over to the thin mattress, pressing myself tightly against him. His hand is thickly wrapped in cotton, a few tubes full of a yellow brown liquid in them. He was combing my hair–which I’m sure was a rats nest–out with his free hand.

“They said the same about you.”

“We’re really lucky, you know,” I said softly, tapping at his chest. “I almost lost you.”

“Almost lost you,” he choked out, pulling away to scan my face, before grinning. “Which would’ve sucked, because you’re my only friend right now.”

“Friend?” I said, trying hard not to sound disappointed. I supposed I shouldn’t have been–what we’d done in the heat of a moment hadn’t meant anything then. It had been a lie for my humor.

It wasn’t fair.

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed. “You, um–do you wanna be my girlfriend?”

I frowned. “I mean, only if you want me to.”

He grinned, the smile splitting across his face. “It’ll suck–your parents will hate me.”

“Right now, I kind of hate my parents, so.”

“I do a lot of pot.”

“We can do something else instead,” I grinned, nudging him, having the nerve to blush.

He licked his lips, looking down at where he’d intertwined our hands. “You–you can’t fix me, you know? I’m still gonna be, you know.”

I nodded, bring his hand up to kiss across the bloody knuckles of his good hand. “I know. I promised I’d be your girlfriend, though. A promise is a promise.”

He grinned. “I’m glad you say that–because you did promise something else.”

I shook my head, rising from the bed. “The kiss is for when we have clothes on, remember.”

“I wasn’t talking about that kiss.”

Connor Murphy!

I’m not sure why I hate the epilogue of Harry Potter so much, but I always imagine Harry getting completely BORED of normal life a year into it. He can’t handle it. His life has always been filled with trouble, kind of like Lord Tennyson’s view of Ulysses, and he goes stir-crazy, engaging in reckless behaviour almost daily. Hermione is worried sick because it’s causing Harry and Ginny to fight. ‘You got through all you went through in your 19 years just to kill yourself on some bloody dare?!’

Draco Malfoy shows up on Hermione’s twentieth birthday with a story of how he can’t handle how he was a coward and talks of how he killed a demon that tried to devour an old lady on the outskirts of muggle London. He says he wants to do this again; the thrill of it was amazing but he needs a partner or two. Harry and Hermione are all for it. Hermione, too, has grown tired of the Ministry life. After all, she has already secured rights for elves and goblins if they want them; that only took her a year. Hunting evil things is appealing, and she’ll be helping not only the wizarding community but the non-magical one as well.

Ginny is furious and leaves Harry for Blaise Zambini. Ron is not keen on more adventure, either. He decides he would rather help George at the joke shop than work with a Malfoy, although he, Harry, and Hermione will stay in touch. ‘Write to me every week,’ he threatens, ‘or else.’

Harry, Hermione, and Draco go on to live their lives doing the things Gilderoy Lockhart only claimed to do: battling demons, ghosts, poltergeists, sirens, urban legends, vampires, and more –all with a magical tent and three wands instead of a Chevy Impala and guns.

They call on Luna Lovegood whenever they encounter a creature they know next to nothing about, pop in on the Weasleys from time to time, and even allow Ginny to write books of their travels based on Hermione’s obsessive journal-keeping.

They become animagi. Hermione watches in surprise as her patronus changes into something unexpected. To her utmost delight, they learn about different forms of magic, even gain new magical abilities whenever they encounter a wise tutor well-versed in the more obscure magical arts.

Odd things happening while on the road are completely normal: one time, this crazy drunk American fangirl dressed up like Supergirl, who went by the name of Charlie Bradbury, latched onto Hermione’s back like koala bear when they were investigating a case at Comic-Con and wouldn’t let go, proclaiming as loud as that Banshee that one time in Ireland that Hermione was her idol, and that she was so glad she didn’t actually marry Ron.

'She reminds me of you when you were around Gilderoy Lockhart,’ Harry had said with great fondness afterwards. The backhand he took to the gut and death glare from his best friend, he thought, were completely worth it. 'Look at it this way, Hermione, she was so drunk she got a Princess Leia tattoo. She won’t remember anything.’

Imagine Hermione frustrated and flustered with her head in her hands as Harry and Draco’s school rivalry almost cost them their lives yet again. Then, she loses her temper, and both boys shrink back in fear. 'Has she always been this scary?’ Draco mutters out of the corner of his mouth to which Harry can only nod furiously. The disappointment the both of them feel is almost childlike. Draco and Harry become very close. Killing creatures will bond even the worst enemies together.

It changes Draco. All of his prior prejudice is smashed having spent so much time with his childhood rivals, and he becomes a much better person for it. Harry is reminded of Snape, and how Dumbledore once voiced he thought they sorted too early. Maybe Draco belonged in Gryffindor, too. Though the pain etched deep within Draco is visibly fading, it will never go away completely, and Harry often wonders what would have happened had he been sorted into Gryffindor with them.

Harry, however, is fully satisfied in that moment. They are in the middle of a hunt. Sitting against the front of the tent in a small forest on the east border of Paris, Harry lets out a long sigh. It is the first time he feels truly at ease in a while. Adjusting his glasses, he takes in the loving and relaxing company of two of his closest friends.

Draco is fiddling with the old radio, and tears of laughter escape Hermione as she reads. This is a normal night for all of them. 'Albus Severus?!’ she hollers, unable to keep her grip on the novel that has her undivided attention. The pumkin-coloured book falls, still open, flat on her stomach, and she dissolves completely into a fit of giggles. 'Muggles have quite the imagination these days, don’t they, Harry?’

'It’s not that bad of a name,’ Draco says, rolling his eyes. He turns the dial on the radio, and a hauntingly familiar tune sounds through it. His annoyed frown is replaced by a smirk, 'Your song is playing, you two.’

Harry can’t help but snort. Hermione throws a sarcastic remark towards Draco over the name Scorpious, before Harry finds himself being dragged to his feet by his childhood friend. Green eyes meet brown ones with a grin. They can’t not dance to 'Oh Children.’

Holding Hermione’s body close to him and swaying to the music under the stars, not all that different from the time they did a little over five years ago, he knows he made the right choice in going on the road. He is drinking life to the lees. This brilliant life with all its scars, beauty, and constant excitement is magical. It has made everything well again.

—  Non-Canon Epilogue : Drinking Life to the Lees

master-sass-blast  asked:

Right. So. Might be mildly addicted to your 'Gods and Monsters' series. Definitely need an intervention, but I'll prolly ignore that anyway, so... anyway, can you do something with Zeus and Hera? I've always thought it was massively whack that the goddess of fidelity was with --according to Greek mythos--one of the biggest adulterers on Olympus. Definitely smelling a bit of an abusive relationship there, if you catch my drift... okay byeeeee

Hera, the young goddess of marriage and family, is only unfaithful to her husband once.

She seduces Zeus first, right as the war ends and they’re all pain and ash and thrumming with the excitement of victory. She smiles just so and touches his bloody chest, her hand pale against the dark copper of his skin and, and when he looks at her his eyes spark with the lightning he so easily commands. She is named his wife that very night, her body littered with bruises from his rough, eager hands, and she tells herself the bile at the back of her throat tastes like victory.

She is queen of the gods. This is what she wants.

They’ve all claimed their domains and gone their separate ways, Demeter to the earth, Hades to the underworld, and Hestia to Olympus where they plan to build their palace. But Poseidon still lingers. “Don’t you have an ocean to conquer?” she asks.

He looks at her, then behind her to where Zeus is busy sketching plans for Olympus. “You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, “you – you can come with me if you want. Or I’m sure Hades would take you.”

Hera has no time for Poseidon and his soft heart. “I will only belong to the best,” she says, tossing her head so her crown of curls fall over her shoulder. “You should go. You have work to do.”

“There are more important things than power,” he says uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.

“No,” she says, “there aren’t.”

~

Hera would not mind Zeus’s women so much if they were not constantly giving him children, something she has been unable to do.

She is an obedient wife. She does not turn her powers against him, and she’s tolerant of his mortals at first, but the longer she is empty of child the less patience she has. How can she be the goddess of family without one of her own?

Her spite gets in her way, and she hurls every kind of obstacle and curse she can at the woman her husband lies with. At first he is angry with her, and bruises litter her throat and wrists. Then, as her wrath and powers grow, he is afraid of her. He watches her warily, sneaking to the mortal realm when before he wouldn’t even try to hide it. He submits when she pins him to the bed and rides him hard, desperate for a child of his, desperate to fulfill the perfect image of wife and mother she’s built for herself.

No matter her magic, no matter how many times they lie together, Hera does not get with child.

She goes to Hestia, and her sister presses a hand to her stomach and purses her lips and says, “Must it be his child?”

Hera stares. She’s the goddess of marriage and family. She is not capable of infidelity. “I – I can’t.”

“Just once,” Hestia says, “the problem is not with you, nor with him, clearly. Only the combination of you both. Lie with any other man, and you will have your child.”

So Hera, just once, puts on a disguise and goes to the mortal realm. She finds a man with skin darker than Zeus’s, a rich warm brown that matches his soft eyes. She lies with him, and it hurts. He is kind and patient and kisses the edge of her jaw, her shoulders, her navel. But to be unfaithful grates against her very nature as a goddess, and every moment is agony. He finishes, his mouth whispering kind things against her own, and she leaves as soon as she can.

It works. She becomes round with child, and is happier than she’s been in a long time. She does not mind Zeus’s mortals, and he even becomes kinder while the baby grows inside of her. His hands become softer, and he spends less time away from Olympus.

The baby is born, and Zeus is furious.

The child is too dark to be his, and he tears it from Hera’s hands while she lies exhausted from the birth. “What do you care?” she cries, struggling to stand, “You have dozens of children. What does it matter if I have one?”

He holds the baby in one hand and grabs her jaw with the other, pulling her to her knees. “You are my wife,” he hisses, “the goddess of marriage and family. You will have my child, or no child at all.”

He throws the baby from Mount Olympus. Hera screams, pushing herself away from him and attempting to jump after it. Zeus catches her around the waist, and with a crackle of power and roar of rage, he sends a lightning bolt after the baby.

The child may have survived the fall, but not the lightning.

“NO!” Hera screeches, clawing at his arm as she struggles to escape his grasp. Normally she’s not this helpless against him, but delivering her baby has left her weaker than she’s ever been before.

He presses the flat of his hand against her swollen womb, adding pressure until she cries out in pain and tries to squirm away from him. “My child,” he repeats, voice low and terrible, “or no child at all.”

He lets her go, and she collapses, grasping out a hand over the edge of Olympus. But the blood between her thighs is still wet, and she can’t find the energy to stand. She wonders if she’ll have to crawl down the mountain to retrieve her baby’s corpse.

“Sister!” Soft hands grab her shoulder and gently roll her onto her back. Hestia’s face fills her vision, and Hera has never seen the older goddess of hearth and fire look so cold. “I’ll kill him,” she says, hands hovering over Hera like she’s not sure where to begin. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think this would happen, I didn’t think he would – I didn’t think.”

Hera curls on her side until she can place her head in her sister’s lap. She’s not sobbing anymore, she’s never been one to fall into hysterics, but she can’t stop crying, a steady stream of tears dripping silently down her face. Hestia runs trembling hands through her hair. “Don’t,” she whispers, “I did this, this is my fault. I – I should have known better.”

Hestia’s hand cup her face, leaning over so she can look her in the eye. “This is not your fault.”

Her sister stands and picks her up in her arms. Hera tries to tell her to put her down, that Zeus will be angry if she leaves, that she did this to herself. But she falls unconscious before she can get any of it out.

~

Hera awakens someplace soft and warm. She opens her eyes, and she’s inside Hades’s palace. Her confusion lasts only until her memories come rushing back, and then she has to bite her lip until it bleeds to stop herself from crying out.

“Hestia brought you here. She’s returned to Olympus to cover for you both. Do not worry – Zeus doesn’t know where you are.” She turns her head, and sees the goddess of magic at her side. Hecate smiles, “I have mended you, do not worry. All is well.”

All is not well. That statement is so far from true, and her instant urge is to crush Hecate to dust for the audacity. Before she can make up her mind one way or the other, there’s a soft knock on the door. It opens to reveal her elder brother. “I have something that belongs to you,” he says, and Here focuses on the bundle in the crook of his elbow.

Her baby’s corpse. She’s relieved someone thought to get it. Her heart feels like lead, and all the control she’d had over her emotions is gone instantly. She hopes they’ll leave her alone to hold the body of her child and weep.

Hades gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, and Hecate rises to help Hera prop herself up so she’s at least sitting. “He’s a strong little thing,” Hades says, and Hera doesn’t understand.

Then a warm, wriggling baby is placed in her arms. He’s got great big eyes and his mouth splits into a toothless grin when he sees her. “He’s alive,” she says numbly.

“Not without sacrifice,” Hecate says softly, and reaches over to undo the blanket he’s swaddled in.

Her son has no legs below his knees.

“Zeus’s lightning bolt didn’t kill him, but we cannot return what was lost,” Hades says, pained. “When he’s older, maybe we can do something, give him something in place of legs. But for now, there’s nothing I can do.”

The king of the underworld is the most powerful god after her husband. Hera knows that, even if Zeus doesn’t. If Hades can’t do anything about her son’s legs, then no can. But he’s alive, Zeus didn’t manage to kill him, and Hera finds herself so grateful that she’s holding a smiling, living child that she can’t be anything but relieved. Her son is alive, and happy. He doesn’t need legs.

“I can’t bring him back to Olympus,” she looks up at them, “Can you find someone to raise him? Someone you trust?”

She doesn’t trust anyone, so it can’t be her choosing.

“You’re going back to him?” Hecate demands, “Hestia said – but I thought for sure – you don’t have to! Don’t go back to him!”

“I must,” she holds her son to her chest, and he reaches out with chubby hands to tug at her hair. “I am the goddess of marriage, and he is my husband.”

Hecate stares, aghast. “Don’t – don’t, Hera. Please. Stay here. Hades will protect you.”

She looks up at her brother, and he raises an eyebrow. He would protect her, he would put himself in between her and Zeus’s wrath if she asked him to. But she won’t, and she thinks he knows it. She says, “I am Hera of the Heights, of Argos, of the Mound. I am the cow eyed, white armed goddess of marriage and of family. I am Hera, queen of the gods.” She looks down at her son, and her heart clenches, because for now a title that cannot be afforded to her is that of mother. “I will not abandon my dominion, nor my husband. I will return to Mount Olympus.”

“But you don’t love him,” Hecate says helplessly.

Hera stares, baffled that anyone could think her marriage had anything to do with love. “Of course not. But this isn’t about love. It’s about power.”

The goddess of magic swallows, then says, “I will raise him.”

Even Hades is surprised by that. “Hecate?”

“I will raise him,” she repeats, “He will stay with me, safe in the underworld where Zeus cannot find him, until he’s old enough and strong enough to protect himself.”

“Thank you,” Hera says, and lowers her head enough to kiss the top of her son’s head. “Tell him that I’m the one that threw him from Olympus.” When she looks up, Hades is resigned while Hecate looks on in horror. “Tell him, tell everyone. I gave birth to a hideous son, and I threw him from Olympus. His legs were crushed in the fall. I did this. Zeus tried to stop me, but could not.”

“Why?” Hecate asks.

Hera smiles down at her son, her heart full with a helpless sort of love. “So that when he ventures from the safety of the underworld, Zeus will have no reason to hurt him. So that when he comes to Olympus, Zeus will be unable to hurt him without explaining he was the one that tried to kill him in the first place.” She runs the back of her finger down his cheek, and he grabs it, his little fist holding onto her. “Blame me, and he will be safe.”

Hecate looks like she wants to argue. Hades puts a hand on her shoulder and asks Hera, “What’s his name?”

Her son smiles, and tugs at her hand, the beginnings of a giggle gurgling in his throat.

“His name is Hephaestus.”

~

When she returns, she no longer has any patience for Zeus’s mortals. When before she had only inconvenienced them, now she’s not playing any games. Those that do not die end up wishing they had, and she’s especially vindictive to any mortal carrying her husband’s child.

She sits on her throne, waiting, a smirk curled around the corner of her lips.

Zeus barges in and charges towards her. He’s so angry smoke is rising off his skin. “You,” he hisses, “this is your doing.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asks, unflinching when he slams his hands on either side of her head, crushing the back of her throne with the force of it.

“She and the children are dead,” he snarls, “my children are dead! I know this is your doing, it reeks of your handiwork.”

Hera slides forward to the edge of her throne, their faces nearly touching, and spreads her legs. He flexes his hands, because even at his most furious he still wants her. She is his wife and his queen. She banishes her clothing so she’s spread out before him, hair piled high and jewelry glinting around her neck. “What are you going to do about it?”

He kisses her hard enough to bruise, and Hera crosses her legs around his back, urging him closer. “Why are you doing this?” he hisses, mouthing at her neck, because he hates her even as he loves her, hates her because he loves her, and loves her because he hates her.

She waits until he’s inside her to lick the shell of his ear and whisper, “My child, or no child at all, husband.”

When he breaks her skin with his teeth, she only laughs.

They do this to each other. Maybe they are meant to be together.


gods and monsters series part xv

read more from the gods and monsters series here

anonymous asked:

Yo I'm pretty new to the fandom, so I'm not coming from a strong place of anti hate or anything, but: what's stopping me from shipping Reylo is that I just don't understand what Rey gets out of this? I really don't want to see the most prominent female Jedi/protagonist reduced to a device for male redemption (I do support his redemption tho) -- I guess I get why he might need her, but why does she need him, based on what we know from TFA at least? Asking sincerely, I'm genuinely curious here

First off, love/romance/relationships aren’t a financial balance sheet and while I kind of understand the premise of it, I don’t agree with the argument on a fundamental level - where someone has to ‘get something’. 

That being said, I think aside from all the speculation, the trailer has really clarified that point. Rey is going to be a bit lost in a world that is very foreign to her, she’s looking for someone to help her - Luke tries, but freaks out (presumably). Kylo isn’t - and hasn’t - ever looked at her in fear or been freaked out - when she escaped, he was basically ‘okay well let’s find her’, not ‘shit not another force user they’re dangerous’ - he even offered to be her teacher and help her as they fought. That’s a really powerful thing - to be accepted for who you are. Rey is really big into family, having a home, because she never had one - she has serious abandonment issues and Kylo shares a lot of her same issues (though for different reasons). 

I cannot stress enough how empowering it is to have someone truly understand you and your fears, and I think for Rey that’s going to be a tipping point for accepting Kylo as a partner (romantic or not). Sometimes you just need someone who gets it and doesn’t fear you. Sometimes that’s all it takes to love them. I’m talking romantic Reylo on the last point, btw. 

And I think that this whole ‘device for a man’s redemption’ argument is just an excuse to not like the pairing and in some respects it’s total bullshit in this context.

It was made very clear throughout TFA - before and after he meets Rey - that Kylo had some serious conflict and serious issues with being drawn towards the Light, etc. I don’t care what anyone says, he was torn up about Han and almost didn’t do it. He felt trapped, like he had already gone too far - and then he killed Han, and it messed him up. Bad. We see the aftermath in TLJ trailer - it’s clearly VERY soon after TFA when he’s in the TIE against Leia and he’s all messed up.

At this point, it’s not tied at all to Rey. He’s already waffling - he’s on shaky ground as it is. If Leia is the turning point for him, then would you also say that Leia is just a ‘device for a man’s redemption’?

No, you wouldn’t - because Leia is a character that is not defined by who she loves and who she helps. She’s a wonderful character that has flaws, strengths, passions, and is human. Some could say that Han’s decision to come back at the end of ANH was caused by Leia - do you still make the same argument? No.

So why would you see Rey any differently? She has her own story, flaws, strengths, passions, insecurities. The fact that her path may be intertwined with Kylo’s doesn’t detract from her story, it strengthens it.

I hope that helps.

anonymous asked:

Hey, I find really sweet the way you write Saeran, and I was wondering if you could write about him crushing desperately on mc and trying to express it, even if he had no idea of what to do (if you want to add the whole RFA too is ok and if you don't want to do this request, it's okay too, you can write about an idea of your own instead!)

Haha, glad you like our characterization! This prompt was so cute, so we decided to also do a few others in the RFA along with Saeran. Hope you like it! 


Saeran:

  • He realized he had feelings for you when he called you at 4am one night
  • He had a nightmare and you were the first person that came to mind
  • He tried to apologize for waking you
  • But you just told him that you would always be there for him no matter what
  • Somehow, it hit him hard and he fell harder
  • He acts a bit awkward around you afterwards
  • He has these new feelings that he’s not sure how to cope with
  • Still, he wants you to know that he appreciates you
  • All he knows though is what he’s seen on TV
  • Like he tries to give you his hoodie…and then gets embarrassed when you thank him but say you’re not cold
  • He notices you walking too far out on the street, so he’ll give you a little push so you’re closer to the sidewalk…only he pushes you a little too far
  • “Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to cut into your personal space, Saeran.”
  • No…that’s not what he meant…don’t go so far…oh noo
  • He tries to surprise you with ice cream with nuts on top…only you politely refuse because you’re allergic to nuts
  • You get overly excited one day and give him a hug
  • He gets as red as his hair and you ask if he’s okay, all the while getting a little closer
  • Poor boy is dying
  • At this point, Seven (who had been watching the whole painful process) intervenes and gives you a little nudge…and your lips land on Saeran’s lips
  • Ah, guess the secret is out

Yoosung:

  • You two had spent a lot of time together in the months after the first RFA party you hosted
  • One day, you two were just walking around and talking and you started talking about some personal problems
  • You apologize and admit you feel safe around Yoosung
  • He’s immensely touched to think that someone could feel like that about him
  • Only he can’t stop thinking about how that moment felt….or about you
  • He realizes he’s starting to develop a crush on you
  • He gets flustered every time you compliment him on something
  • Even the smallest thing gets him blushing
  • Big compliments destroyed him
  • “Yoosung…your shoulders have been getting broader.”
  • “Really? Thanks! You too!”
  • “What?…”
  • “NO!”
  • He tries some pick-up lines…but he keeps losing courage after the first “hey, MC!”
  • Eventually he does get some advice from Zen
  • Finally, he confesses to you….it only takes him a year

Jumin:

  • You and Jumin had been talking in the chat a lot more after the RFA party
  • He realizes that he feels something different about you than the other members
  • He knows what it is…but doesn’t want to confirm it just yet
  • V is hanging by the penthouse one day and Jumin just starts rambling vague questions
  • V listens carefully before looking up at him 
  • “So, you’re asking what happens when someone thinks about a person all the time, wants to see them, and finds themselves opening up more by accident?….So, you got a crush on MC?”
  • Does Jumin Han is blush? Yes he does.
  • Whenever you two meet, he’s always trying to find an excuse to spend time with you
  • He wants to get to know everything about you…only he gets so nervous, he asks sooo many questions
  • It’s okay, cuz you find it cute
  • He’s usually really good with his words, but around you his brain is a mess
  • So, in attempts to be smooth, he quotes a drama he’s recently watched
  • Only…you recognized the quote and now he’s embarrassed
  • At the next RFA meeting, you admitted you found him attractive
  • His response came out stammered you broke Jumin
  • Once he gets his feelings sorted and put together, he does eventually confess to you


Seven:

  • Your car broke down one night in a strange town and you were really scared
  • You call Seven to see if he’d be willing to pick you up
  • He can tell you’re pretty shaken up so he offers to call one of the other members to help
  • But then you tell him you’d feel more comfortable if he was around
  • He didn’t know why, but the statement made his heart brain beat really fast
  • You’ve always been good friends, but as he’s driving you back home, he finds he has an urge to spend more time with you
  • He doesn’t know how to approach you to just “hang out”
  • So he does the only thing he knows how…
  • You call the next day, “Seven, I got a virus on my computer!”
  • “Oh…is that so? I can come over to fix that.”
  • He knew he had to think of something new after the eighth virus
  • Luckily he doesn’t have to because you kind of caught on and invited him to hang out a few times
  • Sometimes little compliments slip out but he tries to cover it up real fast
  • “Wow, you look pretty today,” he mumbles
  • “What?”
  • “Uh…you haven’t unlocked that part of 707. Try again at level 5.”
  • Coincidentally, it’s in one of these slip-ups that he confesses…and you actually hear it 

Check out our other headcanons~ Masterlist

anonymous asked:

Hey! Regarding the sixpenceee fiasco I've been reading her posts and stories for like years and it might just be because I usually skim but I don't recall any specific stories that target mental illness. Do you have any clear examples??? Rly shocked tbh bc I used to love her

I’ve been seeing the stuff go around for a couple of years now and I admit at first I didn’t pay it much attention, which is a shame because a lot of those call out posts had good links that are now all gone because of people deleting. As a result, a lot of the initial stuff that made me start thinking more critically about sixpenceee’s posts have been deleted. I’ve spent the last few days trying to source them again via people’s new urls and internet archives, but literally 90% of the links are gone.

So, I’ve done a bit of digging of my own, and I’ve managed to find some still live posts that I think illustrate what I’m saying a bit better. I’ve screencapped them all and will be hosting the images myself independently of a specific post, so the links should always work.

I’m specifically focusing on the content of this ask here, with posts that use mental illness as entertainment, or treat it in the same way as regular “creepy” (i.e. horror) content.

  • The case of Margaret Schilling is a post about a woman in a psychiatric hospital who died after getting lost in the building, and her body wasn’t found for many weeks. There is a short paragraph at the end about how the hospital is apparently haunted by Margaret now, but the majority of the post focuses on her being mentally ill and the suffering she must have felt being lost and dying of cold and exposure. There’s also a picture of the stain her decomposing body left, so beware of that. It’s tagged #paranormal.
  • The Mentally Ill Man Who Cured Himself With a Gun is a post about a man with serious OCD who tried to kill himself by shooing himself in the head, resulting in brain damage that “cured” his OCD. The photo is of a man with a gun to his head, if that will bother you. It’s tagged as a science post.
  • Short Creepy Story is a story from Reddit where the “creepy” event is a schizophrenic woman acting strangely because of her hallucinations. That’s it. Dude’s mum is schizophrenic and he goes upstairs to find her in the bathtub thinking she’s in The Little Mermaid. The title is “short creepy story” so like, yeah.
  • The Child Star is a story from Reddit which focuses on children being sexually abused and not understanding what’s going on, and the police interviews with one of the grown up children who is now clearly suffering from mental illness thanks to the trauma. (Full story)
  • The Suicide Orphan is a story from Reddit which focuses on an orphan that drives people insane and results in them committing suicide, and I know that this isn’t the only example where sixpenceee posts things that use suicide as the main element of a horror story, which is exploitative and also I personally think it’s inappropriate to use something that comes as a result of serious suffering and imply that it was the creepy ghosts that did it. (Full story)
  • “Psychopath” post includes a link to a quiz where you can see where you “fit in on the psychopath sprectrum”. I’ve seen people mention her using outdated terms in her posts and so this is here as proof that it does happen, and also because “do you have a severe personality disorder?” is a bit of a cheap entertainment trick in my opinion.
  • Karin Catherine Waldegrave is a post about a woman who replies incessantly to her own posts on social media, believing she is the target of a conspiracy. It’s clear she’s likely mentally ill. The post is tagged #creepy.
  • Chinese Water Torture is a post about the torture method that drives victims to extreme stress-related mental instability, and is here both because of that and because the fact that it’s tagged #creepy, which doesn’t seem appropriate.
  • The Edmonton Train attack video shows someone apparently in an altered state of mind through drugs or mental illness (or both) attacking someone on a train. She gifed a video which has since been deleted but a different video of the attack can be found on Youtube, and described it as “insane”.
  • Drawings of a Young Schizophrenic Boy is exactly what it says – a bunch of drawings from a young boy suffering from schizophrenia. The boy is quite obviously distressed by his hallucinations but the post is treated like the other paranormal posts, designed to shock and scare. The post is also tagged #creepy, which is inappropriate. (Close up of caption and tag, as the image is difficult to read)
  • Made By a Paranoid Schizophrenic Patient is another drawing by a person suffering from schizophrenia, also tagged #creepy, and this one with a self-promo in the caption.

I also found a post where sixpenceee addresses the claims of ableism. She says she agrees on the points made about films and stories portraying the mentally ill/physically disabled as “scary”, and that she tries to avoid using words like “insane”. She also asks people to differentiate between her paranormal/creepy posts and her scientific posts. However, she still continues to frequently refer to things as “insane”, both as descriptors and to self-promote her blog (1, 2, 3).

This covers the things I’ve seen people claim she does, but if anyone has any other links (especially things saved from earlier posts like this) feel free to add on.

You Don’t Know Me | 3

Summary: Yoongi gets you pregnant and chickens out

Originally posted by yoongiyi

Word Count: 2077

Pairing: Yoongi + Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: swearing, strong opinions on abortion

Part 1 | Part 2


“(Y/N) please-”, Yoongi rushed to your side as he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks but you stepped back, holding your free hand in front of yourself. You didn’t want to feel his touch. It always made you weak, weak for him, weak for his excuses, but you needed to stay sane in that moment. You needed him to realize how bad he screwed up. He needed to see how mad and hurt you were. If he touched you, all those feelings would vanish in a matter of seconds.

“Don’t touch me Yoongi”, you choked out and he stood still. His eyes that usually didn’t hold much emotions, were full of brokenness, regret and a hint of something you couldn’t quite make out. His shoulders had sunken forward while his hands were in his pockets.

“Why now? Why, out of all days, you picked today to talk to me?”, you sniffed and wiped over your face with the back of your hand. Today had been a rather good day for you but now you were a mess like any other day before. Just with the slight difference that today you were a mess because Yoongi was talking to you. The other days you were a mess because he didn’t talk to you.

“I-I don’t know”, he stammered, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t know you were here but as soon as I saw you, I couldn’t hold myself back any longer. The last month has been horrible. I felt as if I was going through hell every single time I heard your ringtone or saw your messages. Every time I heard you in our living room or saw you leave the dorms. I wanted to hold you, tell you everything will be okay. I wanted to be the one to bring you food over and take you to your appointments. I wanted to hold you in my arms until you fell asleep like we used to. Feel your heartbeat against my body and having your smell linger in my studio. I wanted to tell you cheesy lines that reminded me of you just to hear your beautiful laugh”, he had stepped closer as his index finger gently caressed the side of your face, his eyes moving over yours.

Loneliness.

The thing in his eyes, you couldn’t make out at first - it was loneliness.

“Then why did you ignore me? Why did you hurt me like that when you felt that way?”, you stared at him, pleading for an explanation. “Why did you leave me?”

Yoongi closed his eyes and swallowed hard, before shaking his head. “Because I was scared. You know how hard I work to make our dreams come true and with a baby all this hard work would have been for nothing.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Having a baby doesn’t mean that everything is ruined Yoongi. Yes, you have more responsibility but it doesn’t ruin your career. You’re very talented and everybody knows that.”

He let his hand fall down and bit down on his lip. “No, you don’t get it (Y/N). I’d have to make more time for you and the baby because obviously I can’t let you raise it alone. I wouldn’t be able to tour because I have you and the baby at home - touring would mean leaving you behind like a single mother for several months. That’s horrible. A baby would mean getting less sleep than I already do, bringing me closer to a burn-out than I already am, which I cannot afford. There are just so many negative points in this (Y/N), talent alone doesn’t make them go away.”

Confusion was written all over your face as Yoongi’s words sunk in. Realization hit you, making your jaw drop.

“Hold on - what exactly do you want Yoongi?”, you glared at him skeptically, hoping that your thoughts were wrong, silently praying to God that you were simply being overly paranoid.

He gently grabbed your hands, letting his fingers play with yours as his eyes softened. “I want you. I want you to take me back and be my girlfriend again (Y/N), please. I love you.”

These were the words you had waited for, for so long. Dreamed of every night since he left and cried over to exhaustion. But now that Yoongi had said them, an uncertain feeling spread throughout your chest area, making sickness approach you.

“But you just said that you didn’t want a baby, Yoongi”, you raised one eyebrow at him as he giggled at your words.

You didn’t understand what was so funny.

“Yeah, I don’t want a baby. I want you.”

Silence. The only noise you registered was a floor creaking somewhere in the dorm and your thoughts telling you to run. 

You were right.

Your heart beating increased and sweat formed on your palms. An enormous feeling of having to protect the little human inside of you, made your body shake.

“You’re expecting me to get an abortion?”, you asked hesitantly, afraid to hear the answer. He couldn’t be this heartless. He just couldn’t. Not the Yoongi that you knew and loved. He wouldn’t do that.

“Exactly”, he answered shortly, giving your hands a tight squeeze and smiling warmly at you. “It’s not like the baby is an actual human yet, we’re not killing anybody. We’re just doing the right thing.”

Never in all those years of knowing Yoongi, you would have thought that he’d be capable of suggesting something like that. You couldn’t even picture him thinking about such a cruelty.

He wanted to kill your baby. 

He wanted to get rid of it to be able to keep on dating you secretly again and not lose his job. He didn’t care about the baby, nor you. It was all about his job, his career, his image.

“You can’t be serious right now, Yoongi”, you slowly withdrew your hands from his touch, placing them on your tummy and slightly stepped back. 

His eyebrows raised in confusion. “Of course I am (Y/N). That’s the best solution for all of us.”

Crazily, you started shaking your head, disbelief numbing your body. “This is the best solution for you! What about the baby? You’re just gonna kill it off because it’s an inconvenience to you? What if I’m an inconvenience at some point, huh? Are you gonna kill me then, too?”

At this point, you were screaming at him, forgetting about all the pain you had gone through because of him. All you could think of was he wants my baby dead, repeating in your head like a deadly mantra.

“What? No, of course not. Are you crazy? That’s different! This baby isn’t even born yet”, he screamed back, trying to come closer to you but you pushed him away with one hand while the other one was still holding onto your tiny tummy. Jungkook was right, you weren’t fat but you did have a little noticeable tummy by now and you were going to protect it, no matter what. Or who.

“How is this different Min Yoongi? This baby is a living creature just like you and me. It might not be fully developed yet but it’s still a little person. It’s still a little person that we”, you signaled in between the two of you, “created. It has our DNA, our blood, our everything. It is growing inside of me and God have mercy, I will do anything and everything to protect this little creature from anything and anyone.”

Your fists were balled and your body was shaking angrily. Yoongi’s expression turned from confused to attentive.

“Babe listen, that’s just your motherly instincts. It’s nothing-”, Yoongi tried to explain but you held up a hand, not believing what you were about to say.

“Yoongi, if you don’t want this baby then fine. I’ll leave you alone. You don’t have to raise this baby with me. But I’m not going to abort it. Never. I might be a broke college student with a shitty part-time job that really does not pay me enough but I’ll get through it. I have the boys and Jin who are supporting me so much, unlike you. Especially Jin. So you don’t have to worry, he’ll take care of me and the baby and help me whenever I need help”, you tried to look at him with a straight face but you were never that good in hiding your emotions. He could read you like an open book and he knew that it hurt you to say those words to him.

“So what, Jin is going to replace me and raise that baby instead? Jin, who is secretly in love with you and has been for years is going to be its dad while me - the actual father - will be “Uncle Yoongi” is this how it’s going to be? Wow what a great choice (Y/N), really. You have to be kidding me”, he clenched his teeth and tilted his head in annoyance. “I won’t let him take you away from me. We’ve been through too much (Y/N). I love you and want to be with you! Why can’t you see that? Why isn’t that enough?”

You stopped in your tracks. What did Yoongi just say?

“What did you say?”

“Why isn’t my love enough-”, he started but you shook your head. 

“No, the other thing about Jin. He’s what?”, there’s no way you had heard right. He was just a friend, nothing more.

Yoongi rolled his eyes and bit onto his lower lip, moving from one foot to another. He was anxious and you could tell. “He has been in love with you since I introduced you to the boys. He confessed it to me maybe a year after we started dating. It was so obvious, I thought you’d be able to tell.”

Again, you shook your head. This time more slowly. 

That’s why he always went the extra mile to make sure you were doing fine.

It all makes sense now.

Slowly, you took a deep breath and exhaled in order to calm yourself. You couldn’t afford to make any irrational decision right now.

Looking up at Yoongi, you noticed his sunken figure and your heart shattered into even tinier pieces than it had been before. “Jin will not be their dad and you won’t be the uncle. You’re the father Yoongi and nothing’s going to change that. I will raise this kid because I always hoped for a future with you, a future where we’d be happily married with our own family and I love you so much Min Yoongi, I do. You’re the love of my life and even if I have to raise our baby alone, he or she should know that at least their mom believed in love”, you cleared your throat before continuing. “Also, Jin won’t take me away from you because”, another deep inhale, “I don’t belong to you and we’re not together anymore. You left me and you don’t want this baby. So, no Yoongi, your love is not enough for me. If you loved me like you say you do, we’d be making up already and talking about our future with the baby. Not discussing your wish for its abortion and fathomless jealousy of Jin.”

“Babe, I-”, his face fell and tears welled up in his eyes.

You turned your back to him and walked towards the front door, unable to take in his broken state anymore because in your opinion, he wasn’t allowed to feel that way. You were the broken one. Not him. He didn’t have any right to be this upset and helpless.

“No Yoongi, that’s it. You don’t want the baby, okay. I get it. I should have understood that earlier and not bother you with all my calls and texts and randomly show up at your house, imagining that I knew you well enough to think you were only being stubborn”, you clumsily put on your shoes while Yoongi simply stood behind you, looking like a lost boy.

“Please don’t go”, he whispered under tears, voice cracking, making you look up. It broke your heart and new tears rolled down your cheeks as well, as you saw his heartache displayed on his face. Gently, you wiped some tears off his cheeks.

“I have to”, you replied, turning around before he could do or say anything, closing the door behind you.

©jiminelli

anonymous asked:

Hello. May I request some headcannons with Mer!Hanzo, Mer!Genji, Mer!McCree, with human S/o. It's cool if you don't I just rarely see merfolk AUs in OW. But I hope your day is lovely!

Of course, I’m happy to try most requests I get sent! I’ve never written anything like this before though, so I do hope this is what you were looking for! I hope your day is also lovely, anon :) Enjoy!


Hanzo

You meet every evening on what he calls ‘your rock’

  • On his insistence, of course, you would have been happy with just meeting every week
  • Secretly its the best part of every single day
  • He’s always there before you even when you try to come really early
  • And he won’t tell you how he does it
  • He leans up on the rock on his elbows whilst you sit there, legs crossed

You choose what you do depending on the day of the week

  • Wednesday is picnic day, Hanzo bringing it one week and you the next
  • You love tasting the kind of food he has to offer and he brings something different every week
  • Saturday is swimming day Hanzo’s favourite
  • You come in your swimwear and jump into the waves
  • Sometimes he teaches you how to swim faster and better than you’ve ever swum before
  • Most of the time he just takes advantage of the one day he can really hold you in his arms

Sometimes he feels guilty for not being able to give you the life you had dreamt of since childhood

  • At that point you always remind him that you never thought you’d find something as real as this
  • Tell him that he is the best thing in your life, however he is in your life
  • A feeling that is undoubtedly mutual
  • He tells you that, one day, there’ll be a way for them to be together all the time
  • “I look forward to it.”
  • These conversations usually end in you jumping in the water fully clothed for an incredibly long hug


Genji

You met when he saved you from drowning

  • You loved the sea so much you’d swum out too far
  • It was so horribly cliche that you couldn’t help but roll your eyes when you woke to his face bearing down on you
  • When you saw his tail, instead of screaming as he said others did, you just tilted your head with an ‘Oh’
  • Bombarding him with questions he was only too happy to answer
  • Asking him if you can see him again
  • Him agreeing, disregarding the rules and telling you a time to meet the next day

You come back next day, unable to stay away from the intriguing merman

  • And the next
  • And the next
  • It kind of never stops after that
  • At first its just questions and food and jokes
  • And flirting on Genji’s part
  • Then after a long while it becomes more personal
  • Hopes and dreams, insecurities and doubts
  • Genji’s still flirting though

A few months in, he asks you out on a date

  • You joke about the fact it’ll be in the exact same place as all their other meetings
  • Then say a heartfelt and definite yes
  • His eyes light up in a way you haven’t really seen before
  • He brings the food and the music, you obviously bring the candles
  • Afterwards he invites you into the water for the first time
  • He teaches you to dance like the mermaids do
  • Its the best date you’ve ever been on
  • Little do you know, there are so many more to come


McCree

He literally just appeared out of the ocean whilst you were sunbathing on a quiet part of the beach

  • “How you doin’, darlin’?”
  • You screamed, I mean a man did just pop out of the sea
  • He laughed while trying to calm you down at the same time
  • Once you had calm down, there was a million questions you wanted to ask
  • He was happy to answer them all but insisted on sneaking an innuendo into every single answer
  • You rolled your eyes every time and tried desperately not too grin like mad

You didn’t make plans to meet again

  • Neither of you wanting to seem too keen
  • Both of you still came back to the exact same place at the same time the next day however, not truly expecting the other to be there
  • “Fancy seein y’here, sweetheart” - accompanied by a knowing smirk that set your heart racing
  • You spend the rest of the day and most of the evening just talking

You meet the everyday the same for the next few weeks

  • You hadn’t agreed, you both just came in hope
  • Each time you would lie closer and closer to the ocean
  • Until the day if one of you moved forward even slightly you would have bumped noses
  • At this point, subtle touches or brushes of hands were introduced by McCree of course
  • They were electric
  • One day, you called him Jesse by accident almost and he just stared at you for a while before kissing you
  • “Been wantin’ to do that for weeks, Y/N”
Bloodied (Nolan Holloway)

Fifth Installment of the Broken Series

Broken, Bruised, Burned, Battered

Tag List: @nwmtagsb @rxggie-mxntle @hazftcor @themarkofsupernatural @live-to-the-fullest18 @wotlydia  @imniallsbrownie  @maliamalfoy@acciomarvel @sameoldmistak-es @w-cscenarios @mikaeeeela​ ( ^^^^you guys all rock! If you want to be added to the tag list again please just send me a message not an ask! and I’ll be happy to tag you!) 

Listen: Crazy In Love by Sophia Karlberg

Originally posted by wolfiehunters

Recap

“well hello again.” The familiar voice of Tamara Monroe rung out.

Remember how I said Nolan was going to get me killed? I think he just did.

I looked up glaring at Monroe. It was only Monroe and one other guy but, they both had their guns pointed at me. I could take them, I just needed a distraction. She put the barrel of the gun right between my eyes.

“you know I always thought of myself as a bit of a psychic, I had a feeling you were going to die, and well it looks like my prediction came true.” Monroe said moving her finger to the trigger.

“HEY ASSHOLE UP HERE.”

The other hunter turned his attention to where Theo stood waving his arms. He  aimed his gun emptying his rounds on him. I took this time to grab the barrel of the gun that was pressed to my head before head butting Monroe in the face. She fell backwards grabbing her bleeding nose.

“I thought you were a psychic, bitch.” I growled before kicking the gun away from her.

The man, realizing what was happening, struggled to reload his weapon. I pulled out my belt clicking it in place. I swung it in one swift motion and the hunter fell to the ground.

Dead.

His head separated from his body.

I killed him.

Monroe looked in horror, as did I.

“oh my gosh.” I breathed looking at what I had just done.

A arm reached out pulling me away. I looked up at Theo dragging me back to the car we came in. Liam was in the backseat passed out. The tires squealed as we pulled away from the zoo. I stared straight ahead lost in my thoughts. That man probably had a family and I took him away from his family. Nolan was right, I really was a monster now. So many thoughts were going through my head I barely heard Theo speak up from beside me.

“are you okay?” Theo asked glancing at me.

“I killed him. I killed a man.” I said looking at him.

“you get used to it.” Theo said.

“DON’T TELL ME I’LL GET USED TO IT! OH MY GOD I KILLED SOMEONE!” I screamed.

“if you don't calm down you can join Liam in the back seat.” Theo growled.

“HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO CALM DOWN? OH MY GOD SCOTT, WHAT IS HE GOING TO SAY? HE’S GOING TO KICK ME OUT OF THE PACK.” I said putting my head in my hands.

“It was self defense, theirs a difference.” Theo said.

“YOU KILL PEOPLE NOT ME!” I said breathing heavily.

“I haven’t killed anyone today. Can’t say the same for you.” Theo smirked.

He thought it was funny. This most definitely was NOT funny.

“I’m going to add you to my list if you don’t shut up.” I growled finally slowing my breathing.

“are you finally calm?” Theo asked.

I shook my head yes not really believing it myself. An awkward silence filled the car.

“oh god I’m going to throw up.” I said causing Theo to pull over.

I threw open the door releasing everything I had eaten for the past few days. The images of the man's decapitated head filled my mind making me throw up again.

“what’s going on?” Liam asked finally awakening.

“Y/N killed someone.” Theo shrugged like it was no big deal.

“YOU DID WHAT?” Liam asked shooting straight up.

“seriously would you both chill out. He was going to put a bullet through your head if you didn’t take his off.” Theo said.

“I have to tell Scott.” I said looking at my hands.

Theo sighed before making a right turn to Scott’s house. I didn’t know how I was going to tell him but I needed too. I didn’t mean to kill him, I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone. Theo pulled in to Scott’s driveway giving me an annoyed look. I got out of the car taking deep breaths. I walk inside to see Scott, Malia, Lydia, Mason, Melissa, and Chris crowded around a map.

“Scott.” I started causing everyone to look at me.

I wanted to tell him but nothing would come out. He walked over putting his hands on my shoulders.

“what happened?” He asked looking concerned.

“Scott I’m so sorry, I..” I started but was interrupted by Rafe McCall bursting through the front door.

“the guns, they’re all gone.” Rafe said looking at Scott.

“yeah we know.” Scott growled.

“No I mean they were distributed. Distributed to the citizens of Beacon Hills.” He said looking at all of us.

distributed? they were supposed to be destroyed.

“guys.” Lydia said but no one was paying attention.

“GET DOWN!” she screamed.

the first bullet shattered the window making us duck for cover but it was no use they poured in one by one. I cried out before everything became one big blur.

NOLAN’S POINT OF VIEW

“Y/N!” I screamed as she rolled down the hill.

Liam growled coming at me, I tried to move past him but he threw me back. I couldn’t see where she was and it killed me.

“Liam I have to get her!” I said

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.” Liam growled coming closer to me.

He was in full werewolf form backing me to the wall. I flinched as he punched the wall directly beside my head. He kept punching it again and again but never directly hit me. Suddenly Liam fell limp on the ground. Another guy stood behind him glaring directly at me.

“I’d run.” He said.

The other guy grabbed Liam dragging him off. I had to find her. I jumped up quickly trying my best to walk down the steep hill but I fell and went rolling too. I hurt my ribs on the way making it hard to breath. I hit the bottom feeling pretty rough. I was a little ways away but I could see everything. Monroe had the gun pointed right between her eyes.

“you know I always thought of myself as a bit of a psychic, I had a feeling you were going to die, and well it looks like my prediction came true.” Monroe said moving her finger to the trigger.

I tried to protest but I got the wind knocked out of me on the way down.

“HEY ASSHOLE UP HERE!”

the other hunter turned to where the guy from earlier was and started shooting at him. Y/N grabbed the barrel of the gun Monroe was holding before hitting Monroe in the face with her head. Monroe fell backwards clutching her nose.

“I thought you were a psychic, bitch.” Y/N said kicking the gun away from her.

“watch out.” I croaked but it was barely audible.

the other hunter was reloading his gun about to shoot her. Y/N removed her belt which I now know was a sword all along. She clicked it in place before swinging it. I watched in horror as the man’s head was severed by her blade. The man’s body fell limp and his head right next to the body. She jumped back in awe of what she did.

“oh my gosh.” She said dropping the sword.

The other guy came over pulling her away. Monroe got up examining the body of the hunter. She soon noticed me laying in the dirt. She came over helping me up.

“this is who she really is Nolan.” Monroe said pointing at the dead hunter.

I couldn't get the image of the hunter out of my mind. I couldn’t get the image of her doing it out of my mind either. I laid awake all night thinking of it. What bothered me most is her killing him did nothing to me. I still wanted her, I still wanted to help her, protect her, love her.

I walked in to school exhausted from everything that happened yesterday. I managed to make it through my first three classes but there was no sign of Gabe anywhere. I got up when the bell rang dragging myself to the next class. Gabe suddenly appeared blocking my way. He had a cut on his face with blood still seeping out of it.

“we have a problem.” He said grabbing my arm.

He led me to the locker room showing me the cracked mirror.

“what happened?” I asked.

“Liam and Theo, they were here asking about what happened at the McCall house.” Gabe said looking at me.

I gave him a confused look.

“what do you mean what happened at the McCall house?” I asked.

Gabe looked down guilty.

“Gabe what did you do?” I asked.

“I did it for you.” He said.

“Gabe what are you talking about?” I asked again.

“I shot up the house, but I told Monroe it was you. All of them were inside except for Theo and Liam.” He said.

I immediately thought about Y/N.

 "why did you do that?“ I growled.

"you should be grateful, you’d be dead if it weren’t for me.” Gabe said getting in my face.

I took a deep breath taking off. I could feel the tears cloud my vision. She didn’t escape Monroe just to get killed by Gabe. I quickly got in my car driving to Beacon Hills Memorial. I ran up to the front desk asking if there was anyone with the last name Yukimura there. The nurse said no sending me away. More tears fell down my cheeks as I got back in my car. I refused to believe she was gone. I drove to her house seconds away from a panic attack. I ran to her door throwing it open.

“Y/N?” I called up the steps.

no answer. I quickly ran up the steps in her room but she wasn’t there either. I fell to my knees letting the tears roll down my cheeks. Suddenly the door slammed making me whip around. Scott stood there with his arms crossed in front of him.

“I knew you’d end up here eventually.” Scott said looking at me.

“where is she?” I asked.

“I can show you, but I’m going to need you to do something for us.” Scott said negotiating.

If I said yes there was no going back to Monroe.

“okay.” I said without hesitation.

“follow me.” Scott said walking out her door.

I followed behind him keeping my eyes on the ground. He led me to a blue jeep signaling for me to get in. I nodded my head getting in the passenger seat. To say this was an awkward situation was an understatement.

“what do I have to do?” I asked.

“you’ll know what to do when the time is right.” Scott said glancing at me.

what the hell did that mean?

“how did you know I would show up?” I asked.

“because I’ve been in love before, and I know what it looks like. You’ve never hurt anyone Nolan because deep down you’ve always known she was different but you loved her anyways. Now you just know what makes her and the rest of us different..” Scott said not taking his eyes off the road.

I took a minute to take in what he was saying. It was true, I always knew she was a little different but that’s what made me fall in love with her in the first place.

“She killed someone and I didn’t even care.” I said glancing at Scott.

“yeah Theo told me. He also told me how she proceeded to panic and then threw up afterwards. She would never mean to hurt anyone Nolan, I know her and so do you.” He said pulling in the parking lot.

I looked up to see the sign for Beacon Hills Animal Clinic. I gave him a confused look.

“we couldn’t take her to a hospital.” He said getting out of the car.

I followed after him. He opened the door before stepping to the side. She was laying on metal table, Liam was there holding her hand. His head snapped up as soon as I entered the room.

“what’s he doing here?” Liam growled.

“easy Liam, he’s here because he cares.” Scott said standing in front of me.

“whatever. I keep taking her pain but it isn’t doing anything.” Liam said.

Scott walked over leaning over her. She wasn’t moving.

“Is she dead?” I choked out.

I could feel a single tear run down my cheek.

“no but she’s going to be if we can’t get her to heal.” Liam said looking to Scott.

I walked closer to her. She had three bullet holes in her chest. I felt angry. I wanted to make Gabe pay for this.

“how do we get her to heal?” I asked looking at both boys.

“I don’t know, she needs to command the fox inside of her to heal itself but she can’t exactly do that right now.” Scott said.

“taking away her pain isn’t working either.” Liam said grabbing her hand again.

“can I try something?” I asked looking at Scott and then Liam.

Scott nodded his head moving out of the way. I walked to the side of her looking down at her perfect facial features. I took a deep breath before pressing my lips to hers. I kissed her with everything I had in me. I didn’t know if it would actually work but I needed to try.

“look.” Liam said.

I pulled away looking down at her. The three holes in her chest were healed over, like they were never there. She gasped shooting up off the table.

“Nolan?”

I like cliffhangers so you can have one more. Beaten coming soon xoxoxo

I feel like I need to say something right now, if only because it’s more productive than lying in bed crying and feeling helpless.

Before I begin, I should mention in advance that, due in part to having ADHD, I have genuine difficulty putting my thoughts together in a concise manner, which can lead to very long posts.  I understand if that puts anyone off from reading further, as I’m not even sure I know how to express what I’m feeling right now.

As a person, I was raised to be open-minded.  I’ve never known any other way to be.  I come from a highly LGBT-positive (bisexuality runs on my mother’s side of the family, and my godfather is gay), Democratic family that allowed me to express myself however I wanted, and consume whatever media I wanted (I’ve been watching horror films since I was a toddler, and I’ve been allowed to have facial piercings since age 16, and wear whatever I chose).  My immediate family is comprised of people that have known abuse, and overcome it (rape, CSA, alcoholism).  We have also been familiar with poverty.  The state we live in–where I’ve spent my entire life–had never gone red until this past election.

Having been born in 1983, I was alive through most of the presidency of one of the absolute worst leaders to ever take office: Ronald Reagan.  I lived through both Bush administrations.  I remember the “Satanism Scare”, the original backlash against violent video games, and 90′s “political correctness”.  The AIDS epidemic had barely begun.  PSAs aimed at children did their damndest to try to reverse the fact that drug use had become “fashionable” in the 80′s, and they practically beat us over the head with them during every commercial break while watching our Saturday morning cartoons.  I have seen a lot of bullshit (meaning that I have a lot to compare our current situation to), and always–always–I thought it was from the “bad” guys.  The “other” people, with the “wrong” values.

In less than five years, I’ve come to see that bullshit doesn’t only come from one “side”.  I’ve become disenchanted with the groups I had placed my faith and trust in for most of my life.  I’ve found myself disappointed and irritated with many actions done in the name of the things I believe in.  I feel as though we’ve reached critical mass, and that the people I thought were on my side–the “good guys”–bear more responsibility for it than any of them will ever admit.

Can I just ask when the FUCK so many of us on the left turned into the equivalent of yesterday’s paranoid WASP soccer moms and religious zealots?  When did we become the racists, sexists, and bigots, pretending those labels don’t apply to us just because they’re aimed at “the other” demographics?  And when I say “us” on the left, I’m really not so sure I even want to be here anymore, because it’s become a shamefully toxic and manipulative environment where people actually try to justify threats of death and violence over inane, pointless things that mean fuck all to the world at large.  I sure as hell don’t want to be a “right-winger” (because, remember–I was taught those were the “bad guys”), so where does that leave people like me?  In the mindset of “You’re either with us, or against us”, being fair and objective isn’t allowed.

When Trump became president, our news media and college campuses became rife with cries of “fascism”.  Where?  An overcooked yam in a suit that’s (rightfully) been the center of derision and mockery since he became involved in the election?  THAT’S what’s threatening you??  I’m sorry, have you never read about the shit Reagan pulled?  If you want to know what legitimate fascism is, go talk to someone that lived through Ferdinand Marcos’ rule in the Philippines.

Let’s establish something here: Those neo-Nazis were always here, BUT they had been shamed into hiding.  Suddenly, people were throwing the terms “Nazi” and “fascism” around, and these people started feeling more comfortable.  Those on the left started advocating for violence to combat mere differences of opinion, and white supremacists felt even more comfortable, because they were being shown that their methods were now socially acceptable.

People on the LEFT created the ideal environment for these people to crawl out of the woodwork, and feel like their belief system is validated and justified.  People on the LEFT spouted needless hatred, and gave these political cretins something to point to and say, “See?  We were right all along!”.  People on the LEFT willingly handed them the kind of antisocial behavior they’ve been dreaming of.  

We’re now all experiencing the consequences.  If the Democratic Party had given Bernie Sanders the nomination, he would have steamrolled the election, and you all know it.  Then where would the “fascism” be?  Still hiding.  Cowering.  Not a single soul would be throwing that word around right now.  And no one’s willing to admit that maybe–just maybe–the Democratic candidate we were given could have been the problem.  We’ve created an environment where criticism is not allowed against certain people, which makes it so much easier for our trust to be abused.

And it is being abused.  We are approaching legitimate fascism, and it’s coming from the complete opposite end of the political spectrum.  This is where the careless throwing around of serious terms comes into play, as even the slightest criticism is enough to have a person labeled “alt-right”, or even “a Nazi”.  All this does is make actual neo-Nazis and white supremacists believe they have more company and support than they actually do.  If you’re not ashamed and embarrassed as hell about all of this, then, well…you’re probably not the type that’s even read this far in the first place.

I don’t know what else I can say that I haven’t said in pieces before.  All I can say is that I’ve lost faith in a lot of people.  Nearly ALL people.  And for someone that used to be very cheerful and social, I feel as though a part of me has been taken away.  Many of us are forced to be distrustful, even when we’ve nothing to hide.  When the bar for what is deemed “socially unacceptable” keeps being lowered, how long before it reaches you?  And when will the limit end on what we consider “hate speech”?  When you turn valid criticism against needless violence into “hate speech”, how long before it reaches those “vent posts” and “critical” blogs?  Because I’ve legit seen someone use the term “hate crime” because someone else didn’t ship the same two fictional video game characters together, and if you think those things are comparable, you are completely proving my point.

anonymous asked:

Can you do a blurb where Gemma and Anne don't like Harry's girlfriend and think she's using him for money. Harry doesn't know and then finds out and is really upset about it

“’ello?”

“Harry, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“That I’m the fittest bloke you’ve ever laid eyes on?” She could hear the smirk through the speaker of her phone, knowing that he knew damn well what she was talking about. “As many times as you want.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She wasn’t angry, per se- just overwhelmed, for lack of better words, at how much he spoiled her. “Just because I remarked how nice a bracelet was last week doesn’t mean I wanted it.” She sighed, the sparkle of the diamond on said bracelet catching the sun from where she had it laid on the kitchen table in front of her. “And if I did happen to want it, I could buy it for myself.”

“Know you could.” He didn’t sound the slightest bit phased because she put up an argument every time. “Just wanted to spoil my girl,‘s that really such a crime?”

“Yes.” She was quick to answer. “I don’t want you thinking I’m only here for the gifts and the money.”

“I know you’re not.” He shook his head, despite knowing she couldn’t possibly see him. “But it’s my way of showing you how much you mean to me.”

Admittedly, it warmed her heart how much thought and love was behind each and every gift, none of them were ever just a splurge of money because he felt like he had to buy her over.

“And I’m really thankful, but I honestly don’t need gifts to see that you’re genuine about us.” Her voice was much softer now. “Just- promise me you’ll stop spending your money on me all the time? I really do appreciate it but it would make me much happier to see you spend it on one of your ridiculously expensive scarves or something.”

“A’right I promise.” He sighed jokingly, as if she was asking a lot off him. “I hope you know I’m only going to go crazy on your birthday and at Christmas, though.”

“I guess I can live with that.” She reasoned and he chuckled.

He was one of only a few others sitting in the departures lounge of the airport and he was thankful for his own space in the corner, happier to bicker with his girlfriend than to make small talk with anyone else. After speaking for a little while longer, the voice on the speaker announced his flight, notifying him that there was only five minutes until the gates closed.

“I’ve got to go love but I’ll see you later on.” He stood up, throwing his carry on over his shoulder and making his way towards his gate.

“Ok, call me when you land safe.”

“Will do.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

//

On her way to the airport, (y/n) decided she could kill a bit of time by calling in with Gemma as it would beat sitting on an uncomfortable metal bench for god knows how long until Harry’s flight came in. She also figured she could pick up his charger that he mentioned leaving there last week.

Having only been with Harry for just under 10 months, she had met Anne and Robin four times, Gemma three and Des just once. There was the whole formal ‘meet the parents’ meal a few months in and, afterwards, it was a rare occasion that she was able to travel with Harry to see them on his time off- she did have her own work commitments after all.

Despite that, she wasn’t entirely nervous about meeting with Gemma again; she seemed easy enough to talk to when Harry was present so she was sure going solo wouldn’t make a huge difference. After pulling up to the apartment block and being allowed to walk on ahead through by the security guard who had come to know who she was, she made it up to the fourth floor in a matter of minutes and gave a light knock on the oak-wood door.

“Hi!” She greeted the female clone of her boyfriend as soon as the door opened. “I was on my way to the airport to get Harry but figured I may as well drop in to say hello and pick up his charger for him.”

“Couldn’t he have done that once he landed?” She tried to ignore the bitter tone to her voice, deciding instead to laugh it off.

“He’s usually too tired to function after a long flight.” She laughed.

“I know.” She gave her a pointed look. “He’s been my brother longer than he’s been your boyfriend, y’know.”

This time, she decided to stay silent and chose not to address the bitterness in her voice. Without any further word, Gemma trudged back through her flat. Not knowing if she was welcome to follow or not, (y/n) hovered awkwardly by the doorway before deciding to just follow her anyway.

She could hear her talking to someone in the kitchen, but couldn’t make out – and didn’t really have an interest in- what they were saying.

“Hi, Anne.” She gave her a warm smile once realising who the voice belonged to on her arrival to the kitchen. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

“Thanks.” She gave her a tight lipped smile, not bothering to maintain any eye contact.

“I’ll just get that charger then-“

“New bracelet?” Anne nodded to the diamond link on her arm; the brand new one that had only arrived from Harry mere hours ago.

“Oh.” She looked down at it. “Yeah.”

“How’d you afford that?” The harshness in Gemma’s voice was painfully obvious now and (y/n) didn’t miss how her mother winced slightly at the tone she had certainly not been brought up to use, but she didn’t bother reprimanding her.

“Harry got it for me.”

“Of course he did.” She laughed a dry, bitter laugh. “Just like everything else you own.”

She was taken aback to say the least and couldn’t find any words to answer with, because what exactly could she answer with?

“What she means is that you seem to be getting an awful lot off Harry lately.” Anne tried to ease the awkward atmosphere in the room but didn’t back down on defending her son from someone she thought was taking advantage of him.

“I don’t-“

“I mean, if it’s not him taking you out everywhere and paying the bill every time, it’s you getting these expensive gifts off him.”

“I don’t ask him to.” She was making a poor effort at defending herself against the two strongly opinionated women, sounding nothing short of timid and nervous. “I don’t like when he buys me things all the time.”

“Sure you don’t.” Gemma rolled her eyes. “Listen, Harry’s an adult and neither of us two can tell him who or what he spends his hard earned money on. But we just wanted to make it clear that we can see you for exactly the way you are and we’ll never accept someone into the family who takes advantage of him.”

“Gem-“

“No, Mum.” She snapped. “You said it yourself. Harry only thinks he’s in love and she’s taking advantage of that.”

She looked to Anne for confirmation that she hadn’t said such a thing after being so nice when Harry was there, but when her head stayed bowed down, eyes focused on the table, she took a deep breath and stuttered out a quiet “I’m sorry.” Before bolting to her car where she would be able to let out the hurt she was feeling.

//

Landed safe. Just getting my bags xx

In the café x

“Boo.” (y/n) jumped, startled from where she was in deep thought and didn’t have to fake the smile on her face when the familiar feeling of her boyfriend’s arms were engulfing her. “Well, somebody certainly missed me.” He laughed, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“I did.” She mumbled into his shirt.

“C’mon, let’s get home, yeah?” He suggested.

“Do you want a coffee before we go?” She asked, pulling a note from her purse that would cover the price of a coffee each.

“I’d love one, actually.” She stopped him when his hand went to the pocket of his jeans where he kept loose change.

“I’ll get it.”

“Love, ‘s only a coffee.” He smirked. “Am I not even allowed to treat you to that now?”

“Not when I’m fully capable of buying it myself Harry!” Her volume had increased slightly, but not to the point where she was drawing any unwanted attention to them. “I do have a job, you know.”

“I’m aware.” He spoke slowly, trying to read her expression.

“And could you please take this,” She pulled the bracelet off her wrist. “back? I’m sick of you throwing away all your hard earned money on me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to stay right where she was until he figured out what the hell was going on in her head. “What’s this all about? Where did you take this notion?”

“I’m not taking advantage of you.”

“No one said you were, poppet.”

Everyone says I am!”

“Well I don’t care what everyone says,” He shrugged. “I know you’re not.”

“You only-“ She took a shuddering breath in. “You only think you love me.” His face fell at her statement. “And I’m taking advantage of that.”

“No this isn’t-“ He shook his head. “This isn’t you. Is this the fans? I’ve told you not to look at what they’re saying.”

“No, it’s not the fans.”

“Who, then?”

She didn’t want to tell him; didn’t want to be the reason for a possible argument with his mother and sister. But the desperate look on his face made her want to take away all his worries.

“It doesn’t-“

“Who, (y/n)?” He was more stern now.

“Your mum and Gemma just pointed out a few things.” She swallowed. “I don’t blame them for thinking how they did.” He looked confused, angry and hurt that two of the people he cared most about were saying such things about one of the other people he cared deeply for. “It could be true-“

“It’s bullshit.” He asserted. “Complete and utter bullshit.”

“Harry-“

“Let’s go home.”

//

Much later that night, Harry crawled into bed after having a shower and could tell by how his girlfriend was breathing that she wasn’t asleep, but was still facing away from him. He decided to give her space but laid one hand on her hip, tracing mindless little patterns.

“I called mum earlier.” She didn’t respond with words but he seen how her shoulders tensed up. “I made sure she knew how wrong that was of them to say such things about you.” Still no response. “She just worries sometimes but I’ll not let them speak to you like that again.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice was cracked with the emotion that had built up inside her all day.

“It’s because I love you.” He placed a kiss on her shoulder blade. “And I know I do.”